


Harry Potter and the Mirror of Erised

by secretbeatheroes



Series: Anthology of a World Unseen [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: ;) spoilers, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, Godfathering, Hogwarts, Hogwarts First Year, M/M, Metamorphmagus, Parseltongue, Pre-Hogwarts, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, hogwarts here we come baybe, lads i'll add more characters when i remember, mostly Harry's POV, where is regulus you may ask, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2020-12-23 20:59:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21087737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretbeatheroes/pseuds/secretbeatheroes
Summary: Harry awoke exactly a week before his eleventh birthday to find both of his godfathers bent over him eagerly, Sirius practically vibrating with excitement and Remus all blotchy with tears in his eyes.“YOU’RE A WIZARD, HARRY” Sirius boomed as Harry blinked at them, blearily. Harry clapped his hands over his ears groggily.“I’m a what?” he managed.Sequel to 'The Waif, The Wizard, and The Werewolf'





	1. The Boy Who Lived

**Author's Note:**

> I am so sorry it's been so long. I have actually written the first few chapters so you'll have at least a few weeks of regular updates!! We start back in the Bad Place, so if you need a fluffy ending feel free to pop back to part one! 
> 
> <3 thank you all for your patience and if you have any headcanons or ideas I would love to hear them!
> 
> CW for major character death, violence, and general wartime gore and grief. The next chapter will be back in the good timeline!!

A very stiff tabby cat sat on a wall outside of number 5, Privet Drive.

She had been sitting there all day, ever since the early hours of the morning of November first without so much as a bug for sustenance. Of course, she hardly felt she could eat today. She hardly felt she could eat ever again. 

The cat’s stomach was clenched tight as a fist; after ten long years of fighting, she had thought she would be glad to see this day. All the others of her kind— not cats, mind you— were celebrating. She had sniffed disapprovingly at the daytime fireworks and swarms of owls swooping through the London suburbs, refused to return the occasional shout of jubilation from a passerby who recognised her distinctive markings. All she could feel was grief; and, as the day passed, mounting concern.

There was a soft popping noise and the cat slowly turned her neck to see a man appeared on the corner. The cat’s tail twitched and her eyes narrowed. She stood, giving a soft yowl of relief as she stretched forwards and then up, snapping her spine into place.

The cat then looked back at the man and appraised him with fond exasperation. It was clear that he had made no effort to blend in. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high heeled buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. His beard was tucked into his belt, despite the fact that she had frequently told him that this was absurd.

Yes, by all appearances, Albus Dumbledore didn’t seem to realise that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome. He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something. But he did seem to realise he was being watched, because he looked up suddenly at the cat. For some reason, the sight of her seemed to amuse him. He chuckled and muttered, “I should have known.”

The cat watched with interest as he found what he was looking for in his inside pocket. It seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter, but the cat knew better. He flicked it open, held it up in the air, and clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with a little pop. He clicked it again—the next lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve times he clicked the deluminator, until no light remained. He then slipped the deluminator back inside his cloak and set off down the street toward number four, where he sat down on the wall next to the cat. He didn’t look at her, but after a moment he spoke.

“Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall,” he said. Minerva McGonagall rolled her eyes and shook off her cat-shape. By the time Albus turned back to smile at her she was adjusting her glasses and brushing off her emerald green cloak.

“How did you know it was me?” she asked.

“My dear Professor, I’ve never seen a cat sit so stiffly.”

“You’d be stiff if you’d been sitting on a brick wall all day,” she said testily.

“All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here.”

Minerva pursed her li[s. She knew that Albus knew full well how awful the whole thing was.

“Oh yes, everyone’s celebrating, all right,” she said impatiently. “You’d think they’d be a bit more careful, but no—even the Muggles have noticed something’s going on. It was on their news.” She jerked her head back at the Dursleys’ dark living room window. “I heard it. Flocks of owls… shooting stars… Well, they’re not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent—I’ll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense.”

“You can’t blame them,” said Albus gently. “We’ve had precious little to celebrate for eleven years.” As if she hadn’t noticed.

“I know that,” she said irritably. “But that’s no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumours.”

She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Albus, hoping he would tell her without her having to ask. He didn’t. “A fine thing it would be if, on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all,” she continued smoothly, hoping her voice remained level, “I suppose he really has gone, Albus?”

“It certainly seems so,” said Albus. Minerva let out a breath she hadn’t realise she had been holding. “We have much to be thankful for,” he continued calmly, “would you care for a lemon drop?”

“A what?” she asked distractedly. If Albus was sure he had gone….

“A lemon drop. They’re a kind of Muggle sweet I’m rather fond of.”

“No, thank you,” said Minerva coldly, resisting the cat-like urge to swipe it out of his hand and onto the pavement. “As I say, even if You-Know-Who has gone—”

“My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name?” Albus said, infuriatingly. “All this ‘You-Know-Who’ nonsense—for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: Voldemort.” 

Minerva flinched, but Albus, who was unsticking two lemon drops, seemed not to notice. “It all gets so confusing if we keep saying ‘You-Know-Who.’ I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort’s name.”

“I know you haven’t”, said Minerva, exasperated but fond. “But you’re different. Everyone knows you’re the only one You Know—oh, all right, Voldemort— was frightened of.”

“You flatter me,” said Albus calmly. “Voldemort had powers I will never have.”

Minerva gave him a sharp look of rebuke for making her say this. “Only because you’re too—well—noble to use them.”

Albus simply chuckled. “It’s lucky it’s dark. I haven’t blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs.”

Ignoring this, Minerva continued. “The owls are nothing next to the rumours that are flying around. You know what everyone’s saying? About why he’s disappeared? About what finally stopped him?”

As casually as she spoke, this the real reason she had been waiting on a cold, hard wall all day. She stared down the man beside her, bracing herself, unwilling to believe the rumours unless Albus confirmed them. Please, she willed, please let them be wrong. The headmaster’s eyes were fixed on his lemon drops.

“What they’re saying,” she pressed on, “is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric’s Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumour is that Lily and James Potter are—are—that they’re—dead.”

Albus bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped.

“Lily and James… I can’t believe it… I didn’t want to believe it… Oh, Albus…” her eyes filled with tears and she bit her lip to hold them back. Images of the two— children, really, the way she saw them still in her mind’s eye— flooded to her, so full of life.

Albus reached out and patted her on the shoulder. “I know… I know…” he said heavily. She wondered if he saw the same.

Voice trembling slightly, Minerva continued “That’s not all. They’re saying he tried to kill the Potter’s son, Harry. But—he couldn’t. He couldn’t kill that little boy. No one knows why, or how, but they’re saying that when he couldn’t kill Harry Potter, Voldemort’s power somehow broke—and that’s why he’s gone.”

Albus only nodded.

“It’s—it’s true?” faltered Minerva. She felt a wash of relief swiftly followed by disbelief. “After all he’s done… all the people he’s killed… he couldn’t kill a little boy? It’s just astounding… of all the things to stop him… but how in the name of heaven did Harry survive?”

“We can only guess,” said Albus. “We may never know.”

Minerva pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Albus gave a great sniff as he checked his pocket watch. The planets Albus it spun and swam before Minerva’s still-damp eyes. Placing it back in his pocket, Dumbledore said, “Hagrid’s late. I suppose it was he who told you I’d be here, by the way?”

“Yes,” said Minerva. “And I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me why you’re here, of all places?”

“I’ve come to bring Harry to his aunt and uncle. They’re the only family he has left now.”

“You don’t mean—you can’t mean the people who live here?” cried Minerva, jumping to her feet and pointing at number four accusingly, “Albus—you can’t. I’ve been watching them all day. You couldn’t find two people who are less like us. And they’ve got this son—I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. Harry Potter come and live here!”

“It’s the best place for him,” said Albus firmly. “His aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to him when he’s older. I’ve written them a letter.”

“A letter?” repeated Minerva faintly, sitting back down on the wall. “Really, Albus, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand him! He’ll be famous—a legend—I wouldn’t be surprised if today was known as Harry Potter day in the future—there will be books written about Harry—every child in our world will know his name!”

“Exactly,” said Albus, looking very seriously over the top of his half moon glasses. “It would be enough to turn any boy’s head. Famous before he can walk and talk! Famous for something he won’t even remember! Can’t you see how much better off he’ll be, growing up away from all that until he’s ready to take it?”

Minerva opened her mouth, to say no, absolutely not, over my dead body, what about Remus Lupin and Sirius Black, what about the Longbottoms, what about anyone else for that matter, anyone at all. But Dumbledore, for all his faults, generally knew best. She swallowed, then said, “Yes—yes, you’re right, of course. But how is the boy getting here, Albus?” She eyed his cloak suddenly, wondering if he was ridiculous enough to have hidden the baby in his pocket.

“Hagrid’s bringing him.” said Albus, as if that required no further explanation. 

“You think it—wise—to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?” she asked, tentatively.

“I would trust Hagrid with my life,” said Albus solemnly. She sighed

“I’m not saying his heart isn’t in the right place,” she replied, “but you can’t pretend he’s not careless. He does tend to—what was that?”

A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky—and a huge motorcycle fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them.

If the motorcycle was huge, it was nothing to the man sitting astride it. He was easily three metres tall and wider than any of the doors on Privet Drive. His great shaggy coat was wet with condensation and he had crammed a slightly-too-small quidditch beater’s hat onto his head, goggles down and covered in drops of water. In his vast, muscular arms he was holding a bundle of blankets. Minerva realised, with a jolt, that the blankets held none other than Harry Potter. It seemed impossible now that she had seen only a few months ago laughing in his father’s arms.

“Hagrid,” said Albus, sounding relieved. “At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?”

“Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir,” said Hagrid, climbing carefully off the motorcycle as he spoke. “Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I’ve got him, sir.” 

Sirius Black, Minerva thought weakly, poor Sirius Black. He and James were closer than brothers!

“No problems, were there?” asked Albus calmly, as though inquiring after a maintenance job on the grounds at Hogwarts. Minerva stared at him.

“No, sir—house was almost destroyed, but I got him out all right before the Muggles started swarmin’ around. He fell asleep as we was flyin’ over Bristol.”

Unable to resist anymore, Albus and Minerva bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby boy. He was only a little bit bigger than the last time she had seen him, his tuft of jet black hair slightly longer over his forehead which now bore a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning.

“Is that where—?” whispered Minera, unable to stop herself.

“Yes,” said Albus. “He’ll have that scar forever.”

“Couldn’t you do something about it, Albus?”

“Even if I could, I wouldn’t. Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well—give him here, Hagrid—we’d better get this over with.”

Albus took Harry in his arms and turned toward the Dursleys’ house.

“Could I—could I say good bye to him, sir?” asked Hagrid. He bent his great, shaggy head over Harry and gave him what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog.

“Shhh!” hissed Minerva with misplaced fury, “you’ll wake the Muggles!”

“S-s-sorry,” sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large, spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. “But I c-c-can’t stand it—Lily an’ James dead—an’ poor little Harry off ter live with Muggles—”

“Yes, yes, it’s all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we’ll be found,” Minerva whispered tersely, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. She watched as he laid Harry gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside Harry’s blankets, and then returned to join Minerva and Hagrid. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle; Hagrid’s shoulders shook, Minerva furiously blinked back tears, and even Albus seemed subdued, almost unsure.

“Well,” he said finally, “that’s that. We’ve no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations.”

“Yeah,” said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, “I’ll be takin’ Sirius his bike back. G’night, Professor McGonagall—Professor Dumbledore, sir.”

Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself onto the motorcycle and kicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night. The muggles, miraculously, slept on. 

“I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall,” said Albus formally, nodding to her. Minerva could not meet his eyes; instead, she blew her nose in reply and morphed into a cat so that he could return the lights to their street lamps. She did her best not to look at the little boy— orphaned, abandoned, and scarred, unaware that people all over the country were toasting the triumph he had no idea he had won.

The cat reflected, as she slunk around the corner of the block, that the war had pushed her to do a great many things she was not proud of. This was just another one of many things she would simply have to live with. 

………….

Sirius Black howled with fury, disgust, guilt, shame, and anger. There was probably more inside of him— more emotions, more thoughts, but he didn’t have time to unpack them. He had to find the traitor before someone else got to him first. He was going to kill him, going to rip out his guts and twist them into knots and then hang him by them, by his own intestines, hang him and then drop him from the highest tower in muggle London and then, maybe then, Peter Pettigrew would feel a tiny fraction of the pain that he had caused Sirius Black. 

The image of James’ body was stamped behind Sirius’ eyes, frozen, a twisted and empty caricature of his best friend. It seemed impossible that only moments ago he had been whistling, cheerfully on his way to the Potters to stuff his godson with candy and try to sneak out to the pub with James, just this once, just for a bit of Hallowe’en tradition. He had seen the cottage, blown apart— Hagrid, holding Harry in his blankets, James broken on the floor by the stairs. For a moment, all he could think of was Harry and how desperately he needed to keep Harry safe. But Hagrid had refused. Dumbledore had a plan, Dumbledore no longer needed Sirius Black. In fact, with Regulus dead and James and Lily— oh fuck— and Remus gone and Peter— PETER— no one needed Sirius Black anymore— 

He was going to choke Peter Pettigrew with his own entrails and then he was going to finally blow off his own useless head. He would flay him alive. He would crush him slowly, crush him, crush him like the sight of James’ body weighed on Sirius Black’s constricted lungs—

He disapparated with a crack, not bothering to be quiet about it, went to Peter’s mother’s flat, which was empty, then Order headquarters, empty, then Soho, empty, then to the safe house near Lily’s childhood home. He didn’t care who might see. There was only him, now,— him and Peter, Peter who was in the middle of a street, Peter in London, Peter not hiding, Peter open for all the world to see, Peter who was turning to face Sirius, unshaven and red-eyed, without a shred of shame on his rat-like face. 

“Lily and James, Sirius! How could you?” Peter said, suddenly heartbroken, faking a sob. He pulled out his wand and Sirius— enraged, grief-stricken, shocked— moved too slowly. He barely had time to shield himself from the blast. He emerged, covered in the blood of the muggles dead on the streets, staring at where Peter Pettigrew had been only moments before, and he started, horribly, to laugh. 

It took twenty MLE officers to wrestle him away from the scene.

……………

Unbeknownst to Remus Lupin, his day was about to get a whole lot worse. 

It wasn’t exactly the best day to begin with. For a start, he had only just made his way to the safe house. He slumped into the door, panting, clutching his side, and swearing fluidly through his teeth. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, “shit bugger fuck.” With difficulty, he extricated his wand from the back pocket of his jeans. “Alohamora,” he panted, and the door clicked open. 

Remus flinched as the automatic tongue-tying jinx hit him full in the face and raised his wand to cast a patronus. Same memory as always: a young man in a tower, looking at a book with his name in it. A shaggy silver dog erupted from the end of his wand, wagging its tail and barking silently. The safe-house relaxed. 

“Lumos,” Remus breathed, watching as the dog was replaced by a warm, pulsating light. He shoved the door closed with his good shoulder and, with a grunt of pain, pulled his hand away from his side. It was sticky with blood, but not enough to worry him. He wiped his hand on his robes and carefully aimed his wand at his left side. 

“Episkey,” he said firmly. With a loud crack, his broken rib snapped back into place and sealed itself back together. Remus grunted in pain and then gingerly raised his wand again to check the protective charms. He had just begun to lower it again, the concern that he had forgotten some critical protocol drowned out by the grumbling of his stomach, when behind him someone cleared their throat. 

“HOMON REVELIO,” yeled Remus, somewhat belatedly. A gasping sound echoed through the room and finally lit upon a figure on a thin cot in the corner of the room. Remus pointed his wand at the figure which awoke with a sharp gasp and jumped up to face him, wand in hand. 

“Mary--” 

“Remus--” 

The two gogged at each other for a moment before Mary MacDonald said shakily “Wh-- what was our favourite song in fourth year?” 

“Rebel Rebel,” Remus answered automatically, and added, “and it wasn’t my favourite, it was just apt. It fit the mood!” 

“It’s okay to love Bowie,” Mary croaked, lowering her wand with a wobbly grin. Remus was so stunned by the whole situation that he had a hard time trying not to laugh. “Bowie is timeless,” Mary continued, still shaking a bit, “your turn.” Remus wracked his brains for something to ask her. 

“Er,” he said, “what hex did you use on James on the last day of NEWTS?” 

“It wasn’t a hex, it was just a modified bubble-head charm,” said Mary. Remus lowered his wand. 

“That took me nearly half an hour to figure out and reverse,” he muttered. She launched herself at him and hugged him almost tightly enough to re-crack his ribs. “I thought you were dead,” he wheezed. She loosened her grip, keeping her face buried in his chest. Her hair was dirty and cracked, her usually soft frame thin under dirty robes. He pulled back, examining her. She looked as bad as Remus felt. 

“They got them,” Mary said dully, looking past Remus with vacant eyes. Their relief at seeing each other was fading, replaced by all the horror of the time they’d been apart. “My family.” She swayed slightly and Remus steadied her. 

“I heard,” he said awkwardly, “I’m so--” 

“Don’t” said Mary sharply, “It’s done. I couldn’t--” she broke off and closed her eyes. When she opened them, they were hard. “I’ve been laying low. Waiting for orders. Vance said she would call.” She looked at him again, panic spreading through her face, “You’re here. They’re here then. Death Eaters. Do you know who-- who--” 

“I don’t,” said Remus quickly, guiltily, “I’m so sorry, I’m on a mission, I can’t--” 

“Yeah,” Mary interrupted. She walked back to the cot. Remus followed her hesitantly. 

“Do you have any food?” he asked, a pang of hunger clawing at him. Mary shook her head. 

“Ran out two days ago,” she said, “last night was the full moon and these woods are supposed to have werewolves.” She shuddered. “I was going to try to find a mugge village or something tomorrow.” 

“Oh,” said Remus, worrying she may connect the timing to the nature of his mission. Mary sat down heavily. 

“I sent a note to HQ,” she said listlessly patting the thin mattress beside her. Remus sat gratefully and groaned as the exhaustion that was threatening to overcome him subsided a bit. “But they didn’t respond.” 

“They think you’re dead,” said Remus, “so they probably took your signal off the list in case a Death Eater was...” 

“Using my blood or something,” she finished, “yeah I figured.” She jerked her head over to the kitchen. “Wanna try?” 

“Yeah,” said Remus heavily, standing up despite the pain in his legs and chest. He walked over to the tin sink. 

The cabin was sparse, unfinished wooden walls and a thick layer of dust that was disturbed in a few places but largely unaffected by Mary’s presence. Three open bottles of sleeping draught stood beside the sink.” 

“Saving my strength,” Mary said from across the room as Remus picked up one of the bottles. He nodded and gave her a shallow smile, hoping this was true. He then nicked his finger on a bread knife with a short curse and squeezed a drop of blood onto the little mirror by the sink. 

“Remus Lupin,” he said, and the mirror sucked the blood through the surface. Not broken, Remus thought, relieved. 

“Lupin,” said the short voice of Augusta Longbottom. Remus grimaced. 

“Something’s wrong,” he said, “the mission-- something went wrong. I don’t know what happened but it’s big. I need to talk to Dumbledore, I’m with--” 

“The war is over,” Augusta said curtly. Remus felt his mouth go dry. He blinked, trying to swallow. 

“What?” he asked dumbly, his body going cold, “we lost. Oh fu--” 

“We won,” interrupted Augusta, “or at least everyone seems to think we have. I, for one--” 

“WE WON?!” shouted Remus, bewildered, the first bubble of hysterical joy bubbling up from the tangled pit of his stomach, “we’ve really WON?” 

“Yes,” said Augusta. “You had better come here. I’ll get a portkey running.” The mirror went silent. Mary and Remus stared at each other in shock. 

“Oh Merlin’s tits that old bat,” Mary breathed, unblinking, “it’s OVER! Who pissed in her pepperup?!” 

“Something’s wrong,” said Remus, giddy and terrified at the same time, “something’s not right...” 

“There must have been a battle,” said Mary, “a round-up. They’ll be fleeing the country.” 

“Mmm?” said Remus, beginning to hyperventilate. How could a war just... be over? Where were Sirius and Peter? Had anyone told Lily and James? Was Harry... 

“They’ll be put in Azkaban,” said Mary feverishly, “Death Eaters, the ones who survived.” 

“Yeah,” said Remus, “I expect, yeah. Merlin. It’s over.” 

“They don’t deserve Azkaban,” said Mary coldly. Remus felt the blood drain from his face. 

“Mary...” he said slowly, “you don’t mean....” 

“IT’S TOO SOON!” she yelled, “it can’t be over! I don’t know who did it, it has to be me Remus they don’t deserve--” 

“Mary,” he said again with more urgency, “Mary what are you--” Mary disarmed him. 

“You didn’t see me,” she said, her voice high and tight, “I’m dead, okay?” 

“Mary--” 

“OKAY?” 

Remus slowly jerked his head in a nod. Mary sprinted for the door and wrenched it open, ducking as Remus scrambled for his wand and sent a body-bind hex after her. “OBLIVIATE,” she fired back and Remus dove to the ground, just barely dodging it. Mary spun on her heels and vanished with a crack. Remus stared at the spot she had just occupied, panting from exertion and the panic that was threatening to totally overwhelm him. A bright blue light just barely caught his attention and with a yell he lunged for the mirror. There was a moment between when he touched the Portkey and its departure; Remus had just enough time to let out a long shaky breath before there was a yank at his navel and he was spinning through the elsewhere and then falling, falling, falling onto Augusta Longbottom’s parlour floor. 

He felt that it would be well within his rights to lay on the carpet as long as he liked, but Augusta clearly disagreed. She jabbed at him with the toe of her dragonskin boot. 

“Get up,” she said sharply, pointing her wand in his face, “what was my son’s quidditch number?” 

“Er,” said Remus, scrambling, “I’m sorry I honestly have no idea--” he rolled away from the responding red blast, “It’s me! It really is! Frank was my head of house, his favourite candy is pepper imps, and Slughorn thought he should be a junior minister but he wanted to be an auror!” 

“Good enough,” said Augusta, lowering her wand. Remus swallowed thickly. 

“What’s Frank’s best impression,” he asked. Augusta’s lips twitched into what could have been a smile. 

“Alastair,” she said, “though I’ve always told him it’s very disrespectful.” She peered down at Remus. “You’re friends with the young Potters and Peter Pettigrew.” 

“Yeah,” said Remus, standing with difficulty, “what’s--” 

“They’re dead,” said Augusta bluntly, “and so is You-Know-Who.”


	2. The Vanishing Glass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, to be a dirty great snake escaping a zoo with the help of a conspiratorial child.
> 
> CW: Dursleys

To general dismay, three terrible events threatened to conspire against Harry’s perfect summer before Hogwarts: a sphinx, the moon, and Dudley’s birthday. 

Every year on Dudley’s birthday the Dursleys insisted on a magic-free garden and so Harry, Remus, and Sirius would go to visit Lyall or go camping or do some other marvelous magical holiday for a couple of days, romping around and otherwise enjoying a much-needed respite from the dull, tense heat of Privet Drive. This year, though, June 23rd fell on the full moon and Sirius had been called out to deal with a sphinx and no amount of wheedling could convince him to take Harry along or to allow him to stay with Remus and Lyall. 

(“We can’t protect you well enough without Sirius,” Remus had said with so much guilt in his tired face that Harry didn’t have the heart to argue with him.) Plus, rules were rules: full moons meant sleeping at the Dursley’s and sleeping at the Dursley’s meant waking up to Aunt Petunia’s shrill screeching of “Get up! Get up you useless boy!”

Harry opened his mouth to reply that he was not, in fact, useless, but then closed it, thinking grumpily _it’s not my fault you aren’t magic.___

_ _ Two years ago, Harry had innocently told Aunt Petunia that her flowers were very nice for non-magical flowers. Aunt Petunia, suddenly spitting mad, had screamed at him that he was nasty and freakish like his mother until Harry, shocked and angry, had run to Remus crying. Upon hearing the story, Remus had taken a deep slow breath, his face pale and set. _ _

_ _ “That was a really horrible thing to say,” he had said, and Harry had nodded, hiccuping tearfully. “I am so sorry she said that to you. She can be very wrong sometimes, and she should never say such things. Try to remember that, deep deep down, she wants to keep you safe just as much as Sirius and I do.” _ _

_ _ “Then why is she so mean?” Harry had asked, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. Remus sighed._ _

_ _ “She’s jealous of us, for having magic,” said Remus, “and it makes her very rude.” Harry had frowned, thinking hard. _ _

_ _ “I wouldn’t want to be a boring old muggle either,” he said, and Remus had blinked at him, shocked. _ _

_ _ “Oh no Harry, that’s not right” he had said, his voice suddenly hard, “muggles are different but they’re just as interesting as anyone else. We would love you just as much if you were a muggle and you would love us just as much if we were muggles, okay?” _ _

_ _ “Okay,” said Harry, feeling a little angry and a little ashamed at the same time. Remus ran a hand through his hair, which had begun to grey a bit at the temples. _ _

_ _ “You haven’t met many nice muggles in a long time,” he said, chewing his lip, “and you haven’t gotten to see many muggle inventions. We really should take you to the library or something.” _ _

_ _ “Okay,” Harry had said impatiently, “I don’t really think muggles are rubbish. I just think it would be rubbish to know about magic but not have it.” Remus had given a little huff of relief. _ _

_ _ “Yeah, of course,” he had replied, ruffling Harry’s hair. “Still, you have to be nice even if she isn’t. We all live together, and we need each other okay?” _ _

_ _ “Okay,” Harry had said again, not really understanding the need to be nice to Aunt Petunia but knowing that if Sirius and Remus could be nice to her that he could too, for their sakes. Remus had relaxed considerably. _ _

_ _ “But if she ever hurts you or touches you in a way you don’t like, you tell me straight away,” he had added quickly, “and I’ll hex her hands off.”_ _

_ _ …………_ _

_ _ “Get UP” Aunt Petunia yelled, and Harry got out of bed, struggling to hold onto the strange dream he’d been having about flying on Sirius’ motorbike. He knew the motorbike well enough, but he was sure that it wasn’t Sirius driving it but a giant man, the biggest he’d ever seen. He had the oddest feeling he’d had the dream before. His aunt hammered on the door. _ _

_ _ “Are you up yet?” she demanded. _ _

_ _ “Nearly,” said Harry, whose godfathers generally slept until nine or ten if he let them. He looked at the muggle clock and shook his head in amazement: six o’clock! He didn’t know grown-ups could wake up at six o’clock. _ _

_ _ “Well, get a move on, I want you to look after the bacon. And don’t you dare let it burn, I want everything perfect on Duddy’s birthday.” _ _

_ _ Harry made a face, pulling on his t-shirt and shorts and walking out to the kitchen. As much as he loved his holidays away from the Dursleys, he always dreaded the aftermath of Dudley’s birthdays when Dudley would force Harry to look at all his new toys and Harry would have to feign interest. If he didn’t then Dudley would hit him and Harry would hit back and Dudley would cry and his Aunt and Uncle would go mental on him and Remus and Sirius. This year he’d actually have to watch Dudley unwrap them, and Remus and Sirius wouldn’t be there to have his back. _ _

_ _ By the time he got to the kitchen the the table was almost hidden beneath all of Dudley’s birthday presents. The only one Harry recognized by shape was a racing bike which, Harry thought smugly, was not nearly as cool as the racing broom he knew Sirius and Remus would get him. For a moment he imagined himself and Dudley on the end Privet Drive, Harry on his broom and Dudley on his bike, racing to the house. In his fantasy, Harry at first would pretend to struggle to keep up and then, with a burst of speed, would go so fast that the wind from his broomtail would blow Dudley’s bike over. _ _

_ _ “What are you smirking at?” snapped Aunt Petunia, and Harry jumped. _ _

_ _ “Nothing,” he said as Uncle Vernon walked into the room. _ _

_ _ “Comb your hair!” he barked, like he always did when Harry came over. Harry did his best to flatten his fringe a bit, though he knew it was hopeless. Remus and Sirius never made him comb his hair. Well, after the bath, sometimes. But it never did any good anyways— his hair was just like that. Sirius had told him it was just like his Dad’s, so Harry liked his hair quite a lot actually. Still, he knew better than to tell that to Uncle Vernon. _ _

_ _ Harry was doing his best to fry eggs under Aunt Petunia’s beady eye by the time Dudley arrived in the kitchen. Dudley looked a lot like Uncle Vernon. He had a large, pink face, not much neck, small, watery blue eyes and thick, blond hair that lay smoothly on his head like a shiny yellow helmet. Aunt Petunia often said that Dudley looked like a baby angel – Sirius often said that he looked like a prat-in-training. Harry put the plates of egg and bacon on the table, which was difficult as there wasn’t much room. Dudley, meanwhile, was counting his presents. His face fell. _ _

_ _ “Thirty-six,” he said, looking up at his mother and father. “That’s two less than last year.”_ _

_ _ “Darling, you haven’t counted Auntie Marge’s present, see, it’s here under this big one from Mummy and Daddy.”_ _

_ _ “All right, thirty-seven then,” said Dudley, going red in the face. Harry, who knew the signs of a Dudley tantrum well, began wolfing down his bacon as fast as possible in case Dudley turned the table over. _ _

_ _ Aunt Petunia, whose life seemed mainly comprised of Dudley tantrums, quickly tried to mollify him. “And we’ll buy you another two presents while we’re out today,” she said tremulously, “how’s that, popkin? Two more presents. Is that all right?”_ _

_ _ Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard work. Finally he said slowly, “So I’ll have thirty ... thirty ...” _ _

_ _ “Thirty-nine, sweetums,” said Aunt Petunia. Harry stifled a laugh._ _

_ _ “Oh." Dudley sat down and grabbed the nearest parcel. “All right then.”_ _

_ _ Uncle Vernon chuckled grotesquely. “Little tyke wants his money’s worth, just like his father. Atta boy, Dudley!” He ruffled Dudley’s hair, which did not move an inch. At that moment the telephone rang and Aunt Petunia went to answer it while Harry and Uncle Vernon watched Dudley unwrap the racing bike, a cine-camera, a remote-control aeroplane, sixteen new computer games and a video recorder. He was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petunia came back from the telephone, looking both angry and worried. _ _

_ _ “Bad news, Vernon,” she said. “Mrs Figg’s broken her leg. She can’t take him.” She jerked her head in Harry’s direction. Dudley’s mouth fell open in horror but Harry’s stomach jumped with excitement. Arabella Figg was an elderly squib who lived next door and looked after Harry when Remus and Sirius couldn’t. She was nice and usually had cake or biscuits, but her house smelled of cabbages and she was always going on and on about how exciting it was that she, a squib, was trusted enough by Dumbledore himself to be charged with the protection of such an important figure in wizarding history. Harry, who did not like cabbage or being called ‘an important figure in wizarding history’, always dreaded these visits. _ _

_ _ ‘Now what?’ said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at Harry as though he’d broken Mrs. Figg’s leg himself. Harry did his best to look sorry for Mrs. Figg, though inside he was squirming with excitement at the thought of getting to explore the muggle house without the Dursleys watching his every move. _ _

_ _ “We could phone Marge,” Uncle Vernon suggested._ _

_ _ “Don’t be silly, Vernon, she barely knows we have the boy.”_ _

_ _ The Dursleys often spoke about Harry like this, as though he wasn’t there or as if he was stupid or another species. Harry scowled into his plate. _ _

_ _ “What about Them,” asked Uncle Vernon tersely, and Harry knew he was referring to Harry’s godfathers, “they must know someone who can take him.” _ _

_ _ “And they have phones do they?” snapped Aunt Petunia, shuddering at how close she’d come to referencing the fact that Remus and Sirius were wizards. Uncle Vernon purpled. _ _

_ _ “Well they should have ruddy well left some way of getting in touch, of all the irresponsible—“_ _

_ _ “You could just leave me here,” Harry put in hopefully, thinking he’d be able to watch something on the television and maybe even have a go on Dudley’s computer, which he was sure he could figure out if someone as thick as Dudley could. Aunt Petunia’s already sour face looked as though she’d swallowed a lemon._ _

_ _ “And come back and find the house in ruins?” she snarled. _ _

_ _ “I won’t blow up the house,” said Harry, but they weren’t listening. _ _

_ _ “I suppose we could take him to the zoo,” said Aunt Petunia slowly, “… and leave him in the car …”_ _

_ _ “That car’s new, he’s not sitting in it alone …”_ _

_ _ Dudley began to cry loudly. Harry knew that Dudley wasn’t really crying, but that Dudley knew that if he screwed up his face and wailed, his mother would give him anything he wanted. It was, thought Harry in disgust, something that babies and not eleven-year-old boys would do._ _

_ _ “Dinky Duddydums, don’t cry, Mummy won’t let him spoil your special day!” she cried, flinging her arms around him. _ _

_ _ “I ... don’t ... want ... him ... t-t-to come!” Dudley yelled between huge pretend sobs. ‘He always sp-spoils everything!’ He shot Harry a nasty grin through the gap in his mother’s arms. _ _

_ _ Just then, the doorbell rang and Aunt Petunia shot to her feet. “Oh, Good Lord, they’re here!” she said frantically, and went to open the door. A moment later, Dudley’s best friend, Piers Polkiss, walked in with his mother. Dudley immediately stopped pretending to cry. _ _

_ _ Piers was a horrible, ratty boy who did everything Dudley told him to do including, on one memorably awful occasion, throwing stones at Padfoot and Harry as they walked back from the park. It had taken Remus and Harry’s combined effort to keep Sirius from ‘teaching them a lesson’._ _

_ _ Half an hour later, Harry, thrilled and only a bit guilty for leaving Privet Drive without his godfathers, was sitting in the back of the Dursleys’ car with Piers and Dudley, on the way to the zoo for the first time in his life. His aunt and uncle looked pinched and unhappy but after Mrs. Polkiss had arrived there was no reasonable explanation they could give for leaving their nephew behind. Before they’d left, Uncle Vernon had taken Harry aside. _ _

_ _ “I’m warning you,” he had said, putting his large purple face right up close to Harry’s, “I’m warning you now, boy – any funny business, anything at all – and you lot’ll be out on the street, you and your filthy guardians, and no amount of begging will get you back into our garden.” _ _

_ _ “I’m not going to do anything,’ said Harry, imagining the disappointed look on Remus and Sirius’ faces if he got them all kicked out “honestly …” _ _

_ _ But Uncle Vernon didn’t believe him, and Harry couldn’t quite blame him. It was hard for an underage wizard to control his magic, after all, and it wasn’t Harry’s fault that odd things happened around him whenever his aunt and uncle and cousin were being horrible. _ _

_ _ _I’ll just pretend they aren’t there,_ Harry thought to himself resolutely. _If I get mad, I will do what Sirius does and take a break._ _ _

_ _ Today, nothing was going to go wrong. It was even worth being with Dudley and Piers to spend the day somewhere where there would be all sorts of people who didn’t know who Harry was and didn’t care. _ _

_ _ While he drove, Uncle Vernon complained to Aunt Petunia. He liked to complain about things: people at work, Sirius, the council, Remus, the bank, and Harry were just a few of his favourite subjects. This morning, it was motorbikes. “… roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums,” he said, as a motorbike overtook them. _ _

_ _ “I had a dream about a motorbike,’ said Harry, remembering suddenly, forgetting Piers was in the car. “Someone I don’t know was flying it.” _ _

_ _ Uncle Vernon nearly crashed into the car in front. He turned right around in his seat and yelled at Harry, his face like a gigantic beetroot with a moustache, “MOTORBIKES DON’T FLY!” _ _

_ _ Dudley and Piers sniggered. _ _

_ _ “Yes they do,” Harry muttered, slumping in his seat, hating that he knew he was right but just wasn’t allowed to say. He wished that Remus and Sirius had let him bring Snake, who would have agreed with him. _ _

_ _ Still, it was a sunny day and the zoo was crowded with all sorts of interesting muggles eating muggle sweets and playing with muggle toys. The Dursleys bought Dudley and Piers large chocolate ice-creams at the entrance and then, because the nice muggle lady in the ice-cream car had asked Harry what he wanted, they bought him a cheap lemon ice lolly. _ _

_ _ Harry was actually having a pretty fantastic time. He hung back a bit from the Dursleys to stay out of the way of Dudley and Piers (he wasn’t afraid of his cousin, but he was a lot smaller) and instead marveled at the way no one was looking at him or trying to shake his hand or something. He very nearly felt bad for all the animals; for once in his life, Harry was out and about and not the star attraction. He was just a nearly-eleven-year-old boy with an ice lolly at the zoo, free to do whatever he liked. It was almost certainly too good to last. _ _

_ _ They ate lunch in the zoo restaurant, during which the three boys horrified Aunt Petunia by scarfing down their hot dogs and chips like wild animals, Dudley and Piers temporarily forgetting that they hated Harry in the fun. When Dudley had a tantrum because his knickerbocker glory wasn’t big enough, Uncle Vernon bought him another and Harry got the first. For a moment it seemed as though Dudley had done it on purpose, but that was a stretch. He eyed his cousin curiously over the cherry syrup and clotted cream._ _

_ _ After lunch came the reptile house, which was cool and dark in here, with lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of wood and stone. While Harry wandered excitedly from snake to snake, eavesdropping on their conversations, Dudley quickly found the largest snake in the place. It was so big and thick that it could easily wrapped itself twice around Uncle Vernon’s new car and crushed it like a tin can— but it looked, Harry thought, like it wouldn’t bother. _ _

_ _ It was sleeping, or at least pretending to sleep. Dudley was tapping and hammering on the enclosure, his nose pressed into the glass leaving a snotty outline. “Make it mooooove” he whined at Uncle Vernon, who joined him at rapping on the glass. The snake did not move._ _

_ _ “Do it again," Dudley ordered. Uncle Vernon rapped the glass smartly with his knuckles, but the snake didn’t even flinch. "This is boring,” Dudley moaned. He shuffled away. _ _

_ _ Harry moved in front of the tank and looked intently at the snake. He was sure that if he had to live in a little glass case like that with people bothering him all day he’d die of boredom. “Psst” he whispered, though he wasn’t sure the snake could hear him through the glass. _ _

_ _ But then the snake’s eyes flew open and it slowly raised its head until its yellow eyes were level with Harry’s green. Slowly, conspiratorially, it winked. _ _

_ _ Harry grinned, then looked round swiftly to see if anyone was watching. They weren’t. He winked back at the snake, which jerked its head towards Uncle Vernon and Dudley, then raised its eyes to the ceiling. _ _

_ _ “I get that all the time,” it muttered. Harry nodded sympathetically. _ _

_ _ “I know,” he whispered back, “it must get really annoying.” The snake nodded emphatically. “Where do you come from anyway?” Harry asked, curious. The only snakes he’d ever met were English ones. _ _

_ _ The snake jabbed its tail at a little sign next to the glass. Harry peered at it, reading aloud quietly “Boa Constrictor, Brazil,” he looked up at the snake, “was it nice there?” he asked. The boa constrictor jabbed its tail at the sign again and Harry read on: “This specimen was bred in the zoo.” The snake nodded. “Oh, I see – so you’ve never been to Brazil?” As the snake shook its head, a deafening shout behind Harry made both of them jump. _ _

_ _ “DUDLEY! MR DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON’T BELIEVE WHAT IT’S DOING!” Dudley came running towards them as fast as he could._ _

_ _ “Out of the way, you,” he said, the camaraderie of half-an-hour ago forgotten, punching Harry in the ribs. Caught by surprise, Harry fell hard on the concrete floor and heard his glasses crack. _ _

_ _ He certainly hadn’t meant for what happened next to occur, but there was no denying who had done it. One moment Piers and Dudley were hammering on the glass and the next it had vanished and the great snake was uncoiling rapidly, slithering out of the tank and onto the floor of the reptile house as people screamed and ran for the exits. Harry sat up with a gasp as the boa constrictor slid past him, whispering a cheeky “Brazil, here I come ... Thanksss, amigo.”_ _

_ _ By the time things had calmed down, Harry’s shock faded to dread. This was a big bit of magic, even if he hadn’t meant it. The keeper of the reptile house was in shock, saying over and over “But the glass…..where did the glass go?” The zoo director himself made Aunt Petunia a cup of strong sweet tea while he apologised over and over again. _ _

_ _ he and Dudley were near hysterical, which Harry thought was a bit much. As far as Harry had seen, the snake hadn’t done anything except snap playfully at their heels as it passed, but by the time they were all back in Uncle Vernon’s car, Dudley was telling them how it had nearly bitten off his leg, while Piers was swearing it had tried to squeeze him to death. _ _

_ _ But then, horror of all possible horrors, Piers calmed down a bit and said “Harry was talking to it, weren’t you, Harry?” The car fell deadly silent. _ _

_ _ The whole time between when then and when Piers’ mum had arrived, Harry prayed silently that Sirius or Remus or even Aunt Minerva would get home in time to save him from whatever fate Uncle Vernon clearly had in store for him. It was all he could do not to work himself up into hysterics: never mind Uncle Vernon, what if he was arrested? No, Sirius and Remus wouldn’t let it happen. What if he wouldn’t be allowed to go to Hogwarts? What if….. _ _

_ _ The moment Piers left, Harry sprinted out the back door and into the tent, Uncle Vernon hot on his tail. There was a gentle thud as Uncle Vernon hit the muggle repelling barrier and Harry slumped to the floor of the tent, breathing hard._ _

_ _ “Hiya Harry,” said a cheerful voice from the sitting room. Harry jumped up, his head whipping back and forth in search of the intruder. There was, sprawled across the couch, a teenage girl with bubblegum pink hair in a Hogwarts jumper and black and yellow tartan trousers. Her legs were draped over the back of the couch, black combat boots swinging. “I’m yer cousin, Tonks”_ _

_ _ “Oh,” said Harry, whose life was already so, so, bloody weird, “hi?”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ITS OUR GIRL!!! OUR NUMBER ONE GIRL!!!! And no, there will not be any Remadora in this fic, sorry kids. If you have any ideas how Teddy Lupin or some version of Teddy (Teddy Kingsley? Teddy Weasley? Anything folks) can still exist I am all ears.


	3. The Hogwarts Letter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry Potter's life is so already Goddamn Weird

“He WHAT?” panted Sirius, who had run all the way from the apparition point to the tent. Nymphadora, his cousin Andromeda’s kid, was nearly bent double with laughter. 

“GOD them muggles are horrible aren’t they,” she said, thumbing in the general direction of the house, “thought I was going to piss myself when the pointy one came to try and throw us out.” 

“I— what?” asked Sirius again, “Dora, you should have owled me as soon as he got back and told you!” 

“Don’t call me that,” snapped Dora, completely missing the fury and impatience in Sirius’ tone, “it’s Tonks!” 

“Your dad’s Tonks,” said Sirius, exasperated, “you’re eighteen. And the worst babysitter ever.” 

“Yeah well I charge extra for parstlemouths,” said Dora— Tonks— and Sirius could have jinxed her. 

“I’ll modify your memory,” he said warningly, and Dora just shrugged. 

“That’ll cost you too,” she informed him. Nepotism, Sirius thought with despair, was a truly unrewarding system. 

“I am never hiring a member of my family ever again,” he told her and she rolled her eyes. 

“I handled it, didn’t I?” she asked, and Sirius calmed a fraction, though warily. 

“What did you do?” he asked. Dora—Tonks— grinned. 

“Well,” she said with relish, “I came like you said only Harry weren’t here and neither were the muggles. So I came in, had a cuppa, snooped through your books— great books by the way— and then ‘round three Harry came tearin’ in and said he was going to be expelled before he even got into Hogwarts ‘cause he’d set a dirty great snake free at the zoo by accident.”

“Oh,” said Sirius, relieved. “Oh, alright.” 

“Yeah, that’s what I said,” said Tonks, shrugging. “I told him I did LOADS of magic as a kid in public and that it wasn’t his fault, he wouldn’t even get a reprimand ‘cause he’s not even eleven yet. That calmed him down a bit and we had a laugh but then his Uncle came out into the garden and started yelling bloody murder.” 

“Shit,” chuckled Sirius, forgetting himself. Tonks looked smug. 

“I haven’t even told you the best bit! So I stalk out, looking all intimidating”— this, despite her gangliness and pink hair, Sirius could believe— “and I say ‘what are you on about, Dursley, trying to wake the dead at three in the afternoon’??” Sirius wondered if she would agree to bottle the memory for him so he could watch it on difficult days. “…and he goes ‘who the ruddy hell are you’ so I say ‘I’m Sirius Black, can’t you recognize me?” 

“No…..” Sirius moaned, desperately jealous he couldn’t have seen it. 

“And then I checked my body all quick-like, you know?” She said, miming patting herself down, “and went ‘oh shit! It hasn’t worn off yet!’” 

“NO,” bellowed Sirius, covering his eyes and shaking with laughter. Tonks wiped a few tears from her eyes and continued bravely through waves of giggles. 

“And then…. and then….. and then he goes…. ‘that’s it, you’re out, I’ve had enough,’ and I,” she clutched her stomach, tears streaming out of her eyes, “I go…. ‘D-Dursley…. You know you…. You weren’t supposed to t-t-t-take him out of the… the house and… if you… if you do it again I’lll……” she howled, Sirius nearly falling of his chair in anticipation, “I’LL MAKE YOU LOOK LIKE THIS” she gestured to herself “FOREVER!” 

Sirius laughed so hard he was hiccuping. “Tonks,” he gasped, “you’re permanently hired.” She beamed at him. 

“See?” she said, ‘I told you. I handled it.” 

“You did not,” said Remus severely, walking in the tent with an abashed-looking Harry. Tonks flushed. 

“I handled it,” Remus said to Sirius, who walked over and gave him a kiss before running a worried eye over his partner. 

“You okay?” he asked, and Remus nodded, smiling wearily. 

“After Dora’s, er, performance,” said Remus, nodding to the beet-red and suddenly silent teenager, “I arrived to find the Dursleys cowering angrily in their home, calling Arabella. Harry explained the situation to me, I apologized for Tonks and Harry apologized for himself. Then I modified their memories.” 

“Tonks was great though,” Harry breathed reverently, looking wide-eyed at his cousin, “I thought he was going to murder me.” Sirius felt anger swell in his stomach and met Remus’ eyes, which mostly just looked tired. 

“Yes, well,” said Remus, “now we know better than to leave you at the Dursleys again for longer than a night. We aren’t mad about the snake, Harry, it wasn’t your fault, but you know you should have owled us when the Dursleys decided to take you along.” 

“I couldn’t!” said Harry, frustrated “Piers was there!”

Sirius took pity on him “C’mon Moony, if it’s anyone’s fault it’s ours. We should have sent someone for him earlier.” 

“You’re right,” said Remus, softening guiltily, “I’m sorry Harry.” 

“I’m sorry too,” said Harry softly. “I wanted to go.” Sirius looked at Remus, heartbroken. 

“Oh, Snidget,” said Sirius, “we’ll take you to the zoo.” 

“Or to a fun park, I’ve always wanted to go,” said Tonks, brightening. Sirius rolled his eyes at her. 

“Who says you’re invited, huh?” he asked, and she scowled at him, her curly hair going flat and losing some of its pink. Harry’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. 

“Wicked!” he said in a near-whisper, “teach me how to do that.” 

“Can’t,” said Tonks happily, screwing up her eyes and concentrating for a moment. Her ears grew to the size of her hands and she waggled them at Harry. “I’m a metamorphmagus.”

Sirius and Remus exchanged meaningful looks over Harry’s head and slipped off to discuss what had just happened. 

“I think we have to tell him he can’t bring Snake to Hogwarts,” said Remus after casting a muffliato. Sirius nodded. 

“Tonks took it well,” said Sirius, “but not everyone will. Him being a….” 

“Parselmouth,” said Remus firmly, though he felt himself shudder at the name. “This can’t become some…” 

“Scaly little problem?” asked Sirius, interpreting Remus’ pained expression. Remus nodded. 

“I don’t want to make him feel ashamed,” he said helplessly, “but it will be so much worse if he finds out what people think when he’s at school.” 

“He already knows who he is, the ‘chosen one’ and all that rubbish,” said Sirius, wrapping Remus in his arms and planting a comforting kiss on his shoulder. Remus burrowed his face into Sirius’ neck. “and it hasn’t gone to his head.”

“I know,” muttered Remus, muffled, “I just wish he didn’t have to deal with so much.”

“Me, too” said Sirius fervently, “me, too.” 

….

“So when’d you know you could talk to snakes?” asked Tonks curiously, helping Harry make sandwiches in the kitchen. Remus had gone for a nap and Sirius was at the Dursleys, helping the obliviators fine tune their memories. Harry shrugged, adding more pickles to his already heaping sandwich. 

“I dunno,” he said, “I think I was so little that I didn’t know it was weird. I just thought everyone could do it. What about you?” 

“Same,” said Tonks, who was delightedly examining the spray cheese, “Don’t even remember learning the word metamorphmagus. Just always have I guess.” She turned to look at Harry and he felt her eyes light upon his scar. He resisted the urge to flatten his fringe over it. 

“D’ you?” she asked, hesitating, “do you remember it?” It was funny; no one had actually ever asked him that. 

“Not really,” he said honestly, “but I dream about it sometimes. Like a green flash of light.” Tonks shivered. 

“I was five when it happened,” she said, “my Mum and Dad said they liked your parents.” 

“Thanks,” said Harry awkwardly. He liked hearing about Lily and James but he never knew what to say about them. Instead of saying anything more he showed Tonks how to spray the cheese directly into her mouth. 

“It’s American,” he was telling her proudly, “they had it at Tesco last week and Sirius bought loads….” 

“Yeah loads for me,” said Sirius, walking in. He took the bottle from Tonks and sprayed it into his mouth. “Show-yow buh guh-huh?” He asked her around the creamy orange swirls. Tonks and Harry laughed. 

“I said, shouldn’t you be getting home?” asked Sirius, licking some cheese off the side of his mouth. Harry, who was bored of Privet drive and really liked Tonks glared at him. 

“Nah, you’re right,” said Tonks, shooting an easy grin at Harry. “I can come over some other time if you like. D’you play Quidditch?” 

“Yes,” said Harry eagerly, “yeah I do.” 

“Me too,” she said, grinning “I’m mad clumsy on the ground but I’m like a snitch on a broom.” 

“Are you a seeker?” he asked, hopefully. 

“Chaser,” she said, “at Hogwarts. I’m startin’ Auror trainin’ in two weeks though.” Harry goggled at her. 

“Wicked,” he said, with feeling. She ruffled his hair. 

“I’m off,” she said, grabbing her back. “Bye Sirius.” 

“Say thanks to your mum for me,” he said, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. She winked. 

“Only if you don’t say what for,” she answered, “I’ve gotten into enough scrapes for one summer as it is.” 

“I’m sure you have,” he said, “you’re welcome to drop by whenever you like, though. Despite my best instincts.” 

“Your cheese is safe with me,” she said solemnly. “Bye Harry!” 

“Bye Tonks,” said Harry, a little sadly. She walked outside to disapparate and Harry looked curiously at Sirius, who had begun to prepare for dinner. He knew that Sirius had been adopted by Harry’s grandparents and that Sirius didn’t like to talk about his other family. He hadn’t even known Sirius had any cousins until Tonks had shown up. He hadn’t really thought about it either, which was probably awful of him. He guessed he had just assumed that Sirius’ family had died, but that didn’t make very much sense now that he thought about it. Maybe Sirius didn’t like his family— but Tonks was dead cool, and he had sent her to watch Harry, so that didn’t make sense either.

“Sirius,” he said thoughtfully, watching his godfather chop a bell pepper, “Why didn’t you ever tell me about Tonks?” 

Sirius turned to look at him, surprised. “I did,” he said, frowning, “you met her once! And her mum, Andromeda.” 

“No I didn’t,” said Harry, a little crossly. Sirius blinked. 

“No, you did,” he said defensively, “Andromeda babysat for you that time Remus and I got sick. Tonks had just gotten her Hogwarts letter so that must have been what, seven, eight years ago?” Harry heaved an exasperated sigh. 

“So I was what,” he said, doing the maths in his head, “three?” Sirius stopped chopping and looked guilty. 

“Yeah,” he said, “sorry Snidget. Alright well, I guess we’ll be seeing more of Tonks now that she’s out of Hogwarts. What do you want to eat?” 

“Sausages,” said Harry automatically. “Why aren’t there any pictures of Andromeda about? We have pictures of mum and dad and Grandad Lyall and Moony’s mum and dad’s mum and dad.” He hesitated, not sure why he felt so strange asking, “Why don’t we have any of yours?” 

“Sausages, you say?” asked Sirius, his voice a bit strangled. Harry glared at him. 

“Your grandmum and grandad were my mum and dad,” Sirius continued, after a moment. “The people who raised me didn’t like me very much. Andromeda and my old Uncle Alphard were the only people who did. Okay?” Harry, who had had a very long and strange day felt a bit like crying. He went over to Sirius and wrapped his arms around him. 

“I like you,” he said, his face muffled by Sirius’ jumper,” and Sirius gave a funny laugh and drew Harry up into a mammoth hug. 

“I like you too,” he said, and when he pulled away Harry realised, embarrassed, that Sirius’ eyes were quite wet. Sirius wiped them on the hem of his apron. 

“Anyway,” said Sirius, “The last time we left you with Andromeda you cried and cried the whole time. You didn’t like being left with strangers.” Harry flushed. 

“I was a baby,” he said, defensively, and Sirius messed up his hair. 

“Still are,” he teased, and reached out for another hug. Harry stuck his tongue out at his godfather. 

“Oh rude,” said Sirius, throwing his hand over his heart and staggering backwards, “for that I’ll have to thrash you. At Quidditch. Go get your broom.” 

Harry ran to the broom cupboard as Sirius penned a quick note for Remus and spello-taped it to the icebox. The two walked quickly to the apparition point and apparated to a quidditch pitch outside Surrey where they flew, tossing a quaffal and tussling for it until it was dark and they were both starving. Sirius took Harry for fish-and-chips and they brought some back for Remus who was still asleep when they returned. Harry put on his pajamas and Padfoot followed him into his room, flopping on his bed as a big black dog. Harry, equally exhausted, curled up beside the dog and fell asleep. 

When he awoke the next day, his mouth full of dog hair, Harry jumped out of bed and pulled on his clothes quickly, half-hoping Tonks would show up again today. Remus was still asleep so Harry put the kettle on the hob and poured himself a bowl of cereal with milk, glancing over at the door every few minutes despite himself. Remus and Sirius were great, but Tonks was the closest thing he’d had to a friend (other than Snake, who often vanished for weeks on end) for as long as he could remember. She was grown up but not too grown up, and because of Dudley being Dudley and the whole thing of Being-Famous-And-Living-In-A-Tent Harry didn’t really know anyone other than Remus and Sirius and Aunt Minerva and Grandad Lyall. But now he had a cousin, a really really cool cousin who could do magic, and he was suddenly nervous that he wasn’t quite old or cool enough to be her friend. 

The kettle whistled and, straining a bit (he wasn’t quite tall enough to comfortably lift heavy things off the hob) he poured it over a teabag for Remus and then heaped in milk and sugar, stirring vigorously and pretending a little bit that he was making a potion. Sirius said that Lily— that his mum— had been great at potions. Harry figured he ought to be too, especially because he watched Sirius brewing wolfsbane every month. 

Quietly, careful not to drip on the floor, Harry tip-toed into Remus and Sirius’ room and left the tea on the bedside table closest to Remus. When he got back to the kitchen he saw Sirius at the table, eating from Harry’s bowl of cereal. He sighed, all too familiar with his godfather’s penchant for stolen breakfasts, and got himself another bowl of cereal. 

“Soggy,” Sirius complained. Harry rolled his eyes. 

“Then you should have got your own,” he said reasonably. 

“Moony still asleep?” Sirius asked by way of response, his mouth full. He indicated at the bedroom with his spoon. 

“Yeah,” said Harry. He poked at his second breakfast. “Sirius?” 

“Mhm?” 

“What did you do when you were my age? Did you have any friends?” He felt a little silly asking the last question; of course Sirius had had friends. Most kids his age had friends. Harry’s life, he was beginning to realize, was just really really weird. 

To his surprise, Sirius froze. “Uh,” he said, swallowing with difficulty, red spots rising on his high pale cheekbones, “well, uh, at Hogwarts…” 

“Before Hogwarts” he said. Sirius chewed his lip, looking torn. 

“I,” he said, awkwardly, “um. I think it’s time to wake up Moony.” 

“But—“ 

“We’ll talk later,” said Sirius quickly. “I uh, I wanted to do something today. Gather um, potions stuff.” 

“Potions stuff,” said Harry dubiously, confused by how weird Sirius was being. Usually Sirius and Remus told him everything. Before he could puzzle out what Sirius was trying to hide, Remus was awake and Sirius had shuffled the three of them out the door and off to the apparition point and off to the Fornecombe wood where, whenever Harry tried to ask anything, Sirius would turn into a dog and bound off. 

“Why’s he not answering?” Harry complained to Remus, feeling a little embarrassed and angry over how whiny he sounded. Remus had sighed and chewed on his nails absently, looking after wherever Sirius had run off to. 

“He needs a little more time, I think,” said Remus carefully, “he had a hard time before Hogwarts. I don’t think he knows how to explain it yet.” 

“But you know,” said Harry. Remus smiled a little sadly, shrugging. 

“I know a little,” said Remus, something far-off and confusing in his eyes, “but I don’t think anyone but Sirius really knows.” 

“Oh,” said Harry. When Padfoot came back, wagging his tail, Harry petted him on the head and resolved to figure it out on his own.

….. 

Harry awoke exactly a week before his eleventh birthday to find both of his godfathers bent over him eagerly, Sirius practically vibrating with excitement and Remus all blotchy with tears in his eyes. 

“YOU’RE A WIZARD, HARRY” Sirius boomed as Harry blinked at them, blearily. Harry clapped his hands over his ears groggily. 

“I’m a what?” he managed, and Sirius thrust a letter in his face as Remus blew his nose in a joyful sort of trumpet. Harry sat up and took the letter, rubbing at his eyes. 

_Mr H. Potter_  
_Second Bedroom, Tent_  
_4 Privet Drive_  
_Little Whinging_  
_Surrey _

“Oh,” he whispered, holding it almost reverently, looking up into the shining faces of his godfathers, “I can go?” 

“Yes, of course,” said Remus. 

“We wish we could come with you,” said Sirius at the same time. 

“We’ll write you every day,” Remus continued, tears tracking squiggly lines over the scars on his face. Sirius was still grinning like a madman. 

“We’ll visit,” he said.

“We won’t, but we’ll write.” 

“We have ways.” 

“We do but we won’t visit because it’s not allowed and you won’t want us to.” 

“Of course he’ll want us to!” 

“Hey!” interrupted Harry. They both looked at him, beaming. Harry felt nervous— excited but terribly nervous. He worried that he wouldn’t make friends or that everyone would ask about his scar or that he wouldn’t like it there or he’d be sorted into Slytherin or any number of awful disappointing things. He looked at his godfathers, so proud, and thought _what I’m not as clever as my mum and my dad were?_ He felt his eyes prickle with tears and Remus immediately swooped him up, most un-Remus-like, and planted a kiss on the top of his head. Harry, who was not a baby but who was not yet eleven and needed the reassurance, burrowed close to his godfather and closed his eyes, letting a tear or two make its way onto Remus’ t-shirt. Sirius sat down on the bed and hugged them both. 

“What if… what if I’m not…” he couldn’t finish the sentence. There were too many things he was worried about. 

“You don’t have to be anything but you,” Sirius said fiercely. “You just have to be Harry. We’ll love you no matter what.” 

“Even if I set fire to the castle?” Harry asked, extricating himself enough to wipe his nose on his sleeve. Remus gave a very wet chuckle. 

“Especially if you set fire to the castle,” he said, and Sirius tackled Harry again and mussed his hair. 

“Trust me,” Sirius said, “there is nothing you can do that would be worse than anything I’ve done.” Somehow, this wasn’t overly reassuring. 

“But what if I don’t like it,” Harry asked, and then regretted it almost at the same second he asked. Luckily, neither Remus nor Sirius seemed phased. 

“You will,” they replied at the same time. Sirius shoved at Remus playfully. 

“I didn’t, at first,” he said, and Harry scoffed. “I didn’t!” Sirius continued, swatting at him. “I thought your dad was a bit of a prat and my— well, my mum and dad didn’t like me being in Gryffindor. But by the second week it was home.” 

“It took me a little longer,” admitted Remus, “because all three of my roommates were prats.” Sirius clutched at his chest, gasping in mock devastation and Harry threw a pillow at him. “But it grew on me,” said Remus, “and it grew on Sirius.” 

“My favorite place in the world,” Sirius agreed dreamily. Harry rolled his eyes at his godfather. 

“What about my mum and dad?” he asked, and Sirius laughed. 

“Oh James was made for Hogwarts but don’t worry about that,” he said, grinning, “he was in love before we even got off the train.” 

“Lily didn’t have the best first impression of Hogwarts,” said Remus, looking meaningfully at Sirius, “but she loved magic and she loved the castle.”

“What happened to her?” asked Harry, confused by the look on Sirius’ face. 

“She met four horrible boys on train,” he said sheepishly. “We got better with time.” 

“That we did,” Remus affirmed with a smile. He stood, and Harry could hear his limbs creaking slightly like they always did after the full moon. “What do you want for breakfast? Chocolate? Pancakes? Treacle tart?” 

“Waffles,” said Harry, “and sausages. And bacon. And treacle. Can we call Pippy?” 

“We absolutely can,” said Sirius, rubbing his hands together eagerly. “We can do anything in the world. Whatever you like. I’ll owl Lyall, he’ll be thrilled.” 

“Unless you’d like a quiet day,” Remus amended, and Harry shook his head. He had plenty of quiet days, and something told him that they were now irrevocably behind him. 

“No,” he said, “can we see Tonks and her mum?” Sirius’ smile faltered so slightly that Harry wondered if he might have imagined it. 

“Yeah,” he said, almost as if to himself, “yeah why not? We’ll see Grandad on your birthday. Pippy!” 

The house elf appeared, beaming. “Harry got his letter!” Sirius told her, and Harry felt Sirius’ pride radiating through his own anxiety. As Pippy burst into tears of excitement and the four of them set about making breakfast together, Harry very nearly forgot his worries. 

_ I’m going to Hogwarts,_ he told himself, feeling giddy, _I’m going to Hogwarts._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes you are my lovely boy!!!!! comments and headcanons always appreciated <3


	4. The Keeper of the Keys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for mentions of character major death & wizard supremacists 
> 
> I love Maurauder birthdays SO MUCH

Lunch at the Tonks’ was great, even if Harry wasn’t able to learn as much about Sirius’ family as he had hoped. Tonks— whom everyone called Dora, causing Harry no end of confusion— had turned her hair red, gold, yellow, black, green, silver, blue, and bronze in his honor and Aunt Andromeda had gotten a massive pile of Chinese food to celebrate. 

“You’ll miss this at Hogwarts,” explained Aunt Andromeda, passing him another egg roll. She looked like Sirius, fine boned and pale with the same dark eyes and high cheek bones. “British wizards eat so much steak and kidney pie it’s a wonder we aren’t all malnourished.” 

“I don’t think I ate a single vegetable at Hogwarts,” said Sirius fondly, crunching on a fortune cookie. Remus, whose mouth was full of noodles, shook his head and swallowed quickly. 

“Potatoes,” he said thickly, pointing his fork at Sirius. Aunt Andromeda put her head in her hands. 

“I had a sprout by accident once,” Tonks said, winking at Sirius, “it was awful.” Sirius patted her hand reassuringly. 

“Only Slytherins eat their greens,” he said, jabbing a fork at Andromeda, “and that’s only because of the color.” 

“And the bitterness,” chuckled Uncle Ted, earning him a swat from his wife. Uncle Ted was a muggleborn, a Hufflepuff like Tonks. He was fair-haired and handsome, perpetually smiling with a big belly and a loud laugh. Harry thought that if he looked up the word ‘father’ in a dictionary, he’d see a picture of Ted Tonks. 

“I was in Slytherin,” Aunt Andromeda explained to Harry, and he blinked at her in surprise. 

“What!?” He blurted before he could stop himself, and blushed. Aunt Andromeda rolled her eyes at Sirius. 

“It’s not all bad,” she said, but Harry heard something weird and forced in her voice as she said it. She gave him a smile that was more strained than reassuring. “All the houses are good. Who wants more dumplings?” 

The rest of the evening was fun; after dinner they were all too full to play quidditch so Tonks, Remus, Harry and Uncle Ted played a few rounds of exploding snap as Sirius and Aunt Andromeda sat in the kitchen and spoke quietly over bulbous glasses of dark red wine. By the time they arrived home Harry was half-asleep. As he put on his pajama pants and one of Sirius’ innumerable band t-shirts, he looked over at the letter sitting on his bedside table beside the cheerfully waving picture of Lily and James. 

“Goodnight Mum,” he whispered very quietly, “goodnight Dad. Thanks for…” he wasn’t sure what he was thanking them for, so he left it at that and called in his godfathers to turn out the lights. Both of them kissed him on the forehead, smoothing down his bangs as he half-heartedly protested that he was too old. He listened to their retreating footsteps as they left and fell asleep to the familiar sounds of the whispered protective spells they always put up at night. In the quiet of silencing charms and the still night air of Privet Drive, Harry Potter fell asleep. 

……..

Birthdays in the Lupin-Black-Potter family were the biggest holidays of the year. For as long as Harry could remember, he had awoken on his— or Sirius’— or Remus’ birthdays to all the fanfare and excitement of a carnival or public holiday. They always had them in Wales, at Grandad Lyall’s little house that was far out in the country enough for all the sorts of loud, magical shenanigans that inevitably occurred. 

On Remus’ twenty-fifth birthday, Sirius had charmed an entire forest of trees to march over a hill chanting lines from Macbeth. When Harry had turned seven, Remus had managed to find a real (very illegal) flying carpet that had belonged to Harry’s grandparents and had allowed Harry to drive it high above the brecon beacons, nearly flying them directly into a lake. There were always fireworks of Sirius’ own invention on birthday nights, great dodgy-looking cones of cloth that Sirius would fly with on his broom and toss, dodging wildly, as bright fiery characters danced among the stars. Last year on Sirius’ birthday, Remus and Harry had charmed a garden gnome to follow him everywhere singing songs they had written about Sirius’ own greatest exploits. There were always, always cakes that came in marvelous shapes and sizes and flavors and the only rule they had about gifts were that they had to be for the whole family: storybooks for Remus that he would read aloud to all of them, records for Sirius that Harry and Remus could stomach, muggle things like robotic toys for Harry that Sirius would inevitably destroy by tinkering with them. The birthday itself was the main gift; Harry scoffed at Dudley and his thirty-some presents. He would take his godfathers any day. 

This is all to say that there was no surprise, really, when on his eleventh birthday Harry Potter, lying awake with excitement, jumped up out of his bed at the sound of an enormous BOOM. 

Things usually didn’t start until six in the morning on birthdays— the Birthday King, as his godfathers referred to the person whose birthday it was, would be awakened at dawn and carried out of bed with much tussling and laughter. From the time on the muggle clock on Harry’s bedside table in the cramped little room he shared with his godfathers at Lyall’s house it was exactly twelve o’clock midnight: Harry was eleven years old. BOOM! went the noise at the door. Remus and Sirius were stirring blearily. 

“Wassat?” Sirius mumbled, blinked sleepily, “Wassgoin on. Moony. What the fuck.” 

“Not me,” said Remus, who had begun pulling on pants. He looked a little worried. “Not you?” 

“Not me,” said Sirius, his pale face gleaming in the dark. He looked over at Harry, who shook his head. 

“Not me,” he whispered nervously, his eyes flickering to Remus. 

“You better not be fuc—messing with me,” Remus said to Sirius, tossing him his wand. “Harry, stay here.” 

“No,” said Harry, and Sirius gave him a look so firm that he knew, for sure, that this wasn’t a prank. 

“Stay behind us,” Remus amended, advancing to the door and starting down the stairs. Sirius followed, Harry close behind. Lyall Lupin was standing in the living room, his wand raised at the door. 

“Is this you?” he whispered to them, and all three shook their heads. Lyall just nodded, his face cold and set. 

“Announce yourself!,” he barked. Harry had never seen Lyall like this, his grey eyes hard and focused, his usually sloping posture rigid and commanding even in pajamas and a night robe. Even Remus looked a little surprised, raising his eyebrows wordlessly at Sirius. The thundering stopped. 

“RUBEUS HAGRID,” bellowed quite possibly the loudest voice Harry had ever heard. Remus, Sirius, and Lyall exchanged worried glances. 

“Hagrid,” Sirius yelled through the door, “what did I say the last time you saw me?” 

“BLOODY HELL,” Hagrid yelled back, “THA’ WAS TEN YEARS AGO.” 

“We have to be sure,” called Remus. There was a great rattling sigh. 

“Somethin’ abou’ not needin’ yer bike,” said the stranger more quietly. Both Remus and Sirius had strange looks on their faces, strained and almost embarrassed. 

“Let him in,” said Sirius moodily and Lyall unlocked the door. 

Standing outside was the biggest man in the entire world. His eyes glittered like beetles under a great shaggy mane of mingled hair, mustache, and beard and his massive black overcoat looked as though in a pinch it could double as the sail of a large ship. Great craggy lines formed around his eyes as he beamed at Harry. 

“‘An there he is,” said the giant man, as if to himself. “Haven’t seen you since you was a baby. Yeh look just like yer father.” He squatted, sitting on his heels until he was eye-level with Harry. He looked strangely familiar, though Harry knew he had never seen the man. “Yeh’ve got yer mum’s eyes though. Reckon everyone tells yeh that.” Harry could only nod. 

“Thanks,” he managed, and Hagrid stood. 

“Good lad,” he said, approvingly. He turned to Lyall, Remus, and Sirius. “Couldn’t make us a cup o’ tea, could yeh? It’s not been an easy journey.” Lyall, blinking, seemed to come to his senses. 

“Of course,” he said politely, and gave Hagrid a tight but genuine smile. “It’s good to see you, Rubeus.” 

“An’ you Lyall, an’ you,” said Hagrid beaming, clapping him on the back. Lyall stumbled a bit as he went to the kitchen, rubbing his shoulder. 

“Righ’,” said Hagrid, patting at his pockets, “a very happy birthday to yeh Harry! Got summat fer yeh here – I mighta sat on it at some point, but it’ll taste all right.” From one of his many overcoat pockets, Hagrid pulled a slightly-squashed white cardboard box. Harry opened it carefully to reveal a very large, very sticky chocolate cake with ‘Happy Birthday Harry’ picked out in spiky green icing. 

Harry looked at the giant man who looked as though he’d travelled across the world to deliver his birthday cake, feeling touched and confused and more than a little overwhelmed. He opened his mouth to say “Thank you” but instead he asked “Who are you?” 

Hagrid laughed. “Fair enough,” he said, “I’m Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts.” He held out an enormous hand and shook Harry’s whole arm. “What about that tea then, eh?” he said, rubbing his hands together. “I’d not say no ter summat stronger if yeh’ve got it, mind.” 

“Yeah,” said Sirius weakly, and Harry looked to his godfathers who were both still standing quite still by the door. Hagrid walked into the living room and sat on the couch, which creaked and groaned under his considerable weight. 

“Bloody Wales always gets inter me bones,” he grumbled good-naturedly, patting around at his pockets. Harry watched in bemused astonishment as he pulled a live owl from one of them and a quill and parchment from another. He scrawled a letter, attached it to the bird, and sent it out the window. Grandad Lyall came back in, levitating five mugs of tea. 

“Ah, ta,” said Hagrid, drinking his in a single gulp. Lyall wordlessly passed him another. 

“So,” said Sirius, ashen-faced, “to what do we owe the pleasure?” His accent was creeping out as it did when he was nervous, that plummy aristocratic drone he used when he was speaking with Uncle Vernon. Hagrid looked up at him and chuckled. 

“Sit down Black, ye look like ye’ve been petrified. You too, Remus, starin’ like yeh’ve seen a Grimm.” Both of them sat down on the armchairs turned towards the couch, Harry sitting on the floor beside Sirius. 

“What are you here for?” Remus pressed. Harry sat, cake in his lap, and Remus handed him a cup of tea. Hagrid cast a meaningful look at Harry.

“Important business fer the Headmaster,” he said proudly, giving his godfathers a wink laden with meaning. Remus pursed his lips tightly, looking a bit, Harry thought, like Aunt Minerva. Hagrid turned his eyes to Harry and smiled again. “An’ I wanted ter see ‘im again. Can’t believe it’s been so long.” 

Harry, who had been racking his brains for why the man looked so familiar, lit up suddenly. “I had a dream about you!” he said, remembering Dudley’s birthday a month before, “you were riding Sirius’ bike!” Hagrid goggled at him. 

“Yeh remember tha’?” he boomed. Sirius dropped his mug of tea and it shattered. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he mumbled, vanishing the liquid and mending the mug. Remus got up to help him and perched on the arm of Sirius’ chair, holding his hand. Hagrid watched them sadly. 

“Took yeh from yer Mum and Dad’s house myself, on Dumbledore’s orders. Brought yeh ter yer Aunt and Uncle.” He pulled a massive handkerchief from a pocket and blew his nose loudly. When he tucked it back away Harry could see that his eyes were rimmed in red. “Yer godfather lent me his bike.” 

Harry couldn’t imagine Sirius lending the motorbike to anyone. “Why?” He asked, looking at Sirius. Remus almost imperceptibly shook his head. 

“Doesn’t matter now,” Hagrid said gruffly, “anyhow I was supposed ter see how yeh were gettin’ on and deliver a message to yer godparents here. Only,” he gave the two of them a reproving look, “yeh weren’t anywhere teh be found.” Remus looked chagrined. 

“We are allowed to leave Surrey,” he said guiltily. Hagrid shrugged. 

“I don’t mind, and I don’t reckon Professor Dumbledore does either,” he said, shrugging out of his coat and going to hang it at the door. Lyall came back in with more tea and sat, slightly squashed, beside Hagrid on the couch. Harry wondered if they could have some cake. 

“Can I,” he whispered to Sirius, and Sirius nodded before he even finished asking. “Would anyone like cake?” he asked, and Hagrid beamed. 

“Don’t mind if I do,” he said, and Lyall stood. 

“I’ll cut it,” he said, and waved away Harry’s protests. “It’s you he’s here to see.” 

“Ta, Dad,” said Remus, and Harry sat. 

“Ta, Grandad,” he said, and felt Hagrid looking at him curiously. He flattened down his bangs. 

“Don;t worry abou’ tha’,” said Hagrid kindly, “I saw you the night yeh got it. Yeh were so small yeh fit in the palm of me hand. Reminds me— I’m supposed ter talk ter him on me own.” 

“Oh,” said Sirius reluctantly. He and Remus walked over to the kitchen slowly, where Harry was confident they were eavesdropping. 

“If yeh’ve got any questions before yeh come ter Hogwarts,” said Hagrid comfortably, “I’m here ter answer ‘em. Don’t know much abou’ magic mind yeh, and I can’t answer some things. How much have yer godfathers told yeh?” 

“About magic?” asked Harry hopelessly, wondering if this was a test to see if he was good enough for Hogwarts. His stomach sank. 

“Nah, don’t worry,” said Hagrid, seeing his discomfort, “it’s not a quiz or nothin’. I mean I’m here to answer questions yeh have abou’ yer family. Abou’ yerself.” 

“About myself,” asked Harry, nonplussed, and then remembered that he was famous. “Like… why people come and shake my hand when they see me? Or why I have to live with Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon?” Hagrid nodded. Harry gnawed on the inside of his cheek. Why was it now that he was faced with answers that he was forgetting the hundreds of questions he had. 

“What happened to him,” he blurted out, “Sirius.” Hagrid looked uncomfortable. 

“I think that’s fer Sirius ter say,” he said gently. Harry tried to hide his frustration. 

“Right,” he said, a little crossly. “why have we got to live in Privet Drive? Isn’t—“ he hesitated, trying to remember what little Remus and Sirius had told him about his parents’ deaths— “Isn’t Voldemort dead?” Hagrid gulped. 

“Don’ say the name,” he said hoarsely, draining his second cup, “how much do ye know abou’— abou’ him?” Harry shrugged. 

“Not much,” he said, which was true. His godfathers didn’t like to talk about it, and Harry didn’t really think about it much. He felt that same guilty twinge he had felt when he realized how little he knew about Sirius’ family. Like he should have known to ask. 

“Righ’,” said Hagrid, looking as though he was collecting his thoughts. “this – this wizard, about twenty years ago now, started lookin’ fer followers. Got ’em, too – some were afraid, some just wanted a bit o’ his power, ’cause he was gettin’ himself power, all right. Dark days, Harry. Didn’t know who ter trust, didn’t dare get friendly with strange wizards or witches ... Terrible things happened. He was takin’ over. ’Course, some stood up to him – an’ he killed ’em. Horribly. One o’ the only safe places left was Hogwarts. Reckon Dumbledore’s the only one You-Know-Who was afraid of. Didn’t dare try takin’ the school, not jus’ then, anyway. 

“Now, yer mum an’ dad were as good a witch an’ wizard as I ever knew. Head Boy an’ Girl at Hogwarts in their day! Suppose the myst’ry is why You-Know-Who went after ‘em specifically ... probably knew they were close ter Dumbledore, thought they’d make trouble for ‘im. He wasn’t too fond of muggleborns like yer mum neither.”

“All anyone knows is, he turned up in the village where you was all living, on Hallowe’en ten years ago. You was just a year old. He came ter yer house an’ – an’ –“ Hagrid pulled out another handkerchief from the pocket of his robes and blew his nose like a foghorn, shaking the house. “Sorry,” he said, a little tearfully, “it’s that sad – knew yer mum an’ dad, an’ nicer people yeh couldn’t find. Anyway.” 

“You-Know-Who killed ’em. An’ then – an’ this is the real myst’ry of the thing – he tried to kill you, too. Wanted ter make a clean job of it, I suppose, or maybe he just liked killin’ by then. That cut on yer forehead is what yeh get when a powerful, evil curse touches yeh – took care of yer mum an’ dad an’ yer house, even – but it didn’t work on you, an’ that’s why yer famous, Harry. No one ever lived after he decided ter kill ’em, no one except you, an’ he’d killed some o’ the best witches an’ wizards of the age – the McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts – an’ you was only a baby, an’ you lived.”

Harry’s head was swimming with information. He recognized bits of the story but hadn’t heard them all put together like this. “But—“ he said, hundreds of questions tumbling through his mind, “what happened to Vol– sorry – I mean, You-Know-Who?”

“Good question, Harry,” said Hagrid, his eyes twinkling. This was clearly his favorite part of the story. “He disappeared. Vanished. Same night he tried ter kill you. Makes yeh even more famous. That’s the biggest myst’ry, see ... he was gettin’ more an’ more powerful – why’d he go?” 

“Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die. Some say he’s still out there, bidin’ his time, like, but I don’ believe tha’ either. People who was on his side came back ter ours. Some of ’em came outta kinda trances. Don’ reckon they could’ve done if he was comin’ back.” 

“Most of us reckon he’s still out there somewhere but lost his powers. Too weak to carry on. ’Cause somethin’ about you finished him, Harry. There was somethin’ goin’ on that night he hadn’t counted on – I dunno what it was, no one does – but somethin’ about you stumped him, all right.” Hagrid looked at Harry, his eyes blazing with warmth and respect. Harry felt horribly embarrassed again. 

“I don’t” he said quietly, looking into his tea and avoiding Hagrid’s gaze “I don’t know why it happened. I don’t even really remember it. I’m not all that special, I’m just good at quidditch and maths. I don’t know anything about powerful magic. I don’t even really know anything about magic!” 

To his surprise, Hagrid laughed. “Don’ worry abou’ all tha’,” he said easily, “no one expects yeh ter be anyone but yerself and if they do then they’re mad. I’m sure yeh’ll be great, with parents like yers. And yeh’ll love Hogwarts. If anyone gives yeh trouble, just come ter me.” Harry grinned at his last. 

“Thanks,” he said earnestly, and he meant it. Hogwarts suddenly seemed a bit less overwhelming. He tried to think of more questions, but Hagrid gave a massive yawn and Remus and Sirius came in with sticky slices of chocolate cake that tasted great but functioned more like an adhesive than a food. Doing their best to unglue their jaws, Remus and Sirius bid Harry and Lyall good night so that they could talk privately with Hagrid. As he climbed the stairs, Harry felt the buzz of a muffling charm being thrown up between the hall and the living room. He wished he knew what they were saying, why they were keeping secrets. 

But Harry’s godfathers were always keeping secrets these days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh little angsty boy so angry. 
> 
> readers, I love 11 year old Harry with a passion.


	5. Diagon Alley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my darlings and many apologies for the long wait. A special thanks to butchrose, whose long and wonderful comments brought back my enjoyment of and my inspiration for this story. 
> 
> We know, and have known, that JK Rowling is not the person we want her to be. Her TERF manifesto was, for many of us, the last straw. I think Daniel Radcliffe did a really lovely job explaining how we can still love the stories, so check out his statement, and at the same time the fact is that she does a lot of fucked up things in the series itself. A big part of why I made this fix-it fic is because I wanted to enjoy the books while correcting some of the narratives that don't align with my values. So I wanted to outline some of the ways I have been planning to go about this. It's too long to put in the notes so it's in the beginning of the chapter

Some of my broader problems are: 

\- the lack of fully formed female relationships in this novel. I plan to do a bit more perspective switching so that we can see Hermione's friendship with Ginny develops, as well as exploring the complicated dynamics of the Lavender/Parvati/Hermione dormitory. We're also going to check in much more with Tonks and help her be the mentor/role model she deserves to be!! Most of the later sections are from the perspective of Harry's daughter, Lily, and her quest to maintain muggle friendships from Hogwarts. Luna and the ladies from the quidditch team will also get their due and not to give spoilers but McGonagall is bi and there is a woman from her past waiting for us in the section from McGonagall's perspective (which I've been writing for years now) who helps her rebuild Hogwarts..... and her heart. Yes that is my self-insert OC. And what of it. 

\- not to bring up gender again but the way Snape is made fun of three times for wearing "women's clothing" is SUPER not okay given what we know about JKR. We will make fun of Snape in other ways. No he will not be stripped by James Potter because frankly that scene was assault and not to be made light of. This is a choice that I am making as a survivor-- yes I will traumatize these characters. No I will not do so in this way. 

\- I am a white person, and writing race in a good, non-tokenising, non-fetishising way is very important and something I am doing my best to learn to do well. If you ever think I am doing it poorly, PLEASE let me know and I will fix it. I fully stand with Black Lives Matter and also if you want to skype me in person for a tarot reading, comment a way to contact you and donate at least $5 to an organisation of your choice for a free spread! 

\- look I'm Jewish (ethnically half-Jewish, culturally converting bc of the assimilation shuffle whoop whoop) and (while there is a lot of debate) if you think the goblins are antisemitic i'm begging you to read https://jewishweek.timesofisrael.com/is-harry-potter-anti-semitic/ which has the memorable line "if every grotesque, undersized, shriveled fictitious being were assumed to be a Jew, that would also mean that Yoda, Jewish would be, and E.T. would stop in at shul before phoning home" (basically, yes there are tropes of antisemitic jewish folklore but if you automatically see a shrivelled little gremlin with money and think "jew", perhaps you should re-examine where that thought is coming from hmm?) 

\- the fat shaming gets left at the door. For those of you who noticed that I write the way we make fun of Dudley a little differently, you're absolutely goddamn right I will not fatshame a child. Or any adults for that matter. Fuck you, Joanna, for that. 

\- I have put a lot of thought into transgender characters, mainly how to handle being trans in a wizarding context. How common is transitioning in the 90s wizarding UK? Magic definately makes it way easier, but is it affordable/accessible to everyone? Because transitioning is easier do wizarding kids medically transition younger? How does Hogwarts handle trans students? My plan had been a trans Ron who has lived as a boy most of his life tho he is AFAB, comes into the school registered as male, and takes a monthly gender potion or smth bc I love exploring how being trans adds to the complicated narratives surrounding his family relationships (the mother who longed for a daughter, the elder brothers to live up to, the gendered stuff with the dress robes and the slight internalized misogyny) but now I worry that it looks like a cheap shot at JKR. Any thoughts are really welcome. Also this doesn't mean Ron would be my ONLY trans character, just that he would be a main character who also happens to be trans. 

\- Also Hogwarts pedagogy? Still terrible. But I will also be looking at the way squibs, lycanthropes, and muggleborns are treated with a keener eye and with more world building. More than that, the mistreatment of magical creatures under the ministry is going to be the focus of the post-war years of the series. I am always open to corrections, ideas, and advice. 

Thank you for sticking with me through this long hiatus!! I love you all very much. 

Now onto Chapter Five: Diagon Alley

.........

“Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit’s the birthday boy,” sang Sirius into Harry’s ear. Harry scrunched up his face and rolled over. 

“Birthday boy,” sang Remus, banging on a little gong. Harry, both excited and exhausted, pulled the covers over his head (as was tradition) and groaned. 

“Wake up and get your birthday toys” sang Sirius, pulling them back. Remus banged the gong. 

“Dooooooon’t be birthday coy,” he sang, and Harry giggled despite himself. 

“Yooooooooou’re the birthday boy,” Sirius finished and the two of him doused him in a spray of butterbeer. 

“AAGH” said Harry, both because it was his line and also because his bed, pyjamas, and hair were now doused in sticky bubbles. 

“Give us a kiss, Moony old man,” said Sirius piteously, “our godson…” 

“The fruits of our labors and pains…” 

“Is eleven years old today!” 

“Whatever will we do,” said Remus giving Sirius a peck on the lips. Harry attempted to pull his soaked duvet back over his face. 

“Grosssssssss” he moaned, half-heartedly. Sirius grinned at him and morphed, licking at the butter beer on his face. 

“DISGUSTING,” Harry howled, laughing despite himself and pushing the big dog away. “You guys are the worst!” 

“Is that any way to treat the Birthday Maestros?” said Remus, leaning lazily against the wall. Remus was always relaxed on birthdays. 

“Let the birthday maelstrom begin!” Sirius added, himself again and now sat squarely on Harry, who felt squashed but happy. 

“But take a shower,” said Remus, innocent in his mock-severity, “you’re a mess!” 

“Honestly, like we taught him no hygiene,” said Sirius, messing with Harry’s sticky hair and kissing him on the forehead. Harry shoved him off. 

“Birthday man, birthday plan,” he could hear them singing as they shut the door and walked downstairs. Harry shook his head, grinning, and followed them. 

When he got downstairs, still sticky and soaked, he saw with surprise that the giant man was still sitting in the parlour. He was nursing a cup of tea and laughing softly with Grandad Lyall. 

“There he is,” chuckled Hagrid, looking up at Harry. Lyall gave an exaggerated sigh at the sight of him. 

“Boys,” he called in the direction of the kitchen, “I expect there to be a clean room when you leave.” 

“Plenty of clean rooms in the house,” Sirius called back. Lyall rolled his eyes. 

“When your Dad was your age,” said Hagrid, “they did all sorts on birthdays. Nearly set fire ter me cabin the one year.” 

“Sorry,” Remus yelled from the kitchen. Harry, newly shy, gave him a little smile and then went into the tiny bathroom by the stairs. He washed himself off as best he could and roughly toweled his hair, putting on the clothes that had been laid out for him by the sink. To his surprise they weren’t his usual muggle clothes; robes, the everyday kind, with a pair of jeans to wear underneath. 

“Moony,” he said, coming out of the bathroom, “why….” 

“Best be off, Harry, lots ter do today, gotta get up ter London an’ buy all yer stuff fer school,” Hagrid said, nodding at him. Harry’s stomach dropped. 

“Er,” he said lamely, and Sirius walked over with a plate piled high with waffles and bacon. 

“Hagrid’s taking you to do your shopping,” he said, and there was a tense set to his shoulders that Harry equated with the Dursleys or difficult questions. 

“Oh,” said Harry, and then he felt a bubble of excitement well up inside of him, “OH! To Wizarding London?” 

“Diagon Alley,” said Remus, forced relish in his voice. Harry looked at him curiously. 

“Figure ye ought ter see the muggle world,” said Hagrid, beaming at him. “An’ these two,” he jerked a sausage-sized thumb at Remus and Sirius, “are abou’ as inconspicuous as a hippogriff in a divination parlour.” 

“Cool,” said Harry, vibrating with excitement, “cool! And I can get a wand?” 

“There’s lots ‘o stuff ter get,” said Hagrid grinning, “Didn’t ye read yer letter?” 

“A hundred times,” said Harry fervently. He looked at his godfathers, who looked a bit saddened. 

“We’ll do your birthday stuff when you get back,” Remus promised. He smiled at Hagrid. “You’re welcome to join!” 

“Ha!” Said Hagrid, grinning, “I know the stuff you two get up ter. Plus I’ve got important business for the headmaster,” he added, throwing Harry’s godfathers a lavish wink. They exchanged inscrutable glances. 

“Plus, we need time to get ready,” said Lyall, “don’t we, lads?” 

“That we do,” said Sirius plummily, “that we do. Off you pop.” 

“We’re off ter Gringotts,” said Hagrid with a grin, “yeh haven’t been since yeh were a tot I reckon.” 

Harry did not remember ever going to Gringotts, but by the look on Remus and Sirius’ faces he’d be regaled with the story later. He hugged his godfathers and Lyall and followed Hagrid out the door. 

“How’d you get here,” he asked, curiously. The walk from the apparition point to Lyall’s house was so long that his godfathers usually took him in the motorbike.” 

“Flew,” said Hagrid, winking. Harry goggled at him. 

“On a BROOM?” He asked, trying to imagine a broom big enough for the massive man. Hagrid looked a bit shifty. 

“I’m not really supposed ter do magic,” he said, a little shamefaced. “Got expelled in me third year ye see. Don’t ask about it because I won’t tell yeh.” 

“Alright,” said Harry, who resolved to find out on his own. Hagrid chucked. 

“Tha look on yer face is all James,” he said, appreciatively. “Yeh couldn’t keep a secret from him even if yeh didn’t know the answer yerself. I’ll speed us up a bit, if yeh don’t mind not tellin’” 

“I won’t,” Harry promised, and Hagrid surreptitiously drew a ratty pink umbrella from his coat. 

“Righ’” he said, crouching down, “get on my back.” 

Hagrid bent down and Harry awkwardly climbed onto his back, feeling silly but also very excited. Hagrid rapped his shoes with the umbrella. 

“Hang on,” he said, and stepped forwards. Harry felt the skin on his face peel back as they whizzed through the countryside. They stopped, miles down the road, and Hagrid took another step. Harry could barely keep his eyes open but he tried as best he could to watch the flash of farms and welsh hills as they passed. 

“How—“ he gasped. Hagrid puffed out a strained laugh. 

“Seven league boots,” he said, setting Harry down. What little of his face wasn’t covered with his massive beard had taken on a greenish tinge. “Won ‘em in a game o’ explodin’ snap.” He tapped his boots with the umbrella and stashed it hastily back in his cloak. “I reckon they only go abou’ three leagues these days, though. Charms wearin’ through. It’ll be muggle transport from here.” 

…….. 

Harry could not remember ever going to London before, but if anything Hagrid was more lost than he was. He had to help Hagrid get a ticket (“Can’t understand these bloody scraps ‘o paper Harry, I really can’t”) and then help shove him through when he got stuck in the ticket barrier. As they climbed up a broken elevator, Hagrid grumbled and complained about the tiny seats and electronic appliances. 

“‘I don’t know how the Muggles manage without magic,” he said to Harry. Harry, staring at the bright lights and hundreds and hundreds of shops advertising hamburgers and cinemas and music stores couldn’t help but disagree. London was dazzling, all loud noises and eye-catching pictures and weird smells. He couldn’t imagine that the wizarding world beneath it could look any less like magic.

His skepticism grew as he and Hagrid approached a tiny, grubby-looking pub. 

“This is it,” said Hagrid with relish, “‘the Leaky Cauldron. It’s a famous place.” 

Harry looked at the muggles passing by; none of them spared a glance at the pub. In fact, when they were looking in its direction, their eyes seemed to slide from the book shop on one side to the record store on another, as if the pub didn’t exist. Harry felt his breath catch; he had seen muggle-repelling charms in action before (and would, for the rest of his life, fondly remember Uncle Vernon slamming into the barrier) but there was something so subtly magic about it that Harry felt a shiver run through his body. For the first time he could remember, Harry felt like a part of the wizarding world. Hagrid cleared his throat and Harry, returning to himself, shook off his reverie and went inside. 

For a famous place, the Leaky Cauldron was surprisingly empty. A few old witches sipped tiny cups of sherry in one grimy corner, one of them puffing mottled purple smoke out of a long thin pipe. A small man in a top hat stood on tiptoe to lean on the bar; he was chatting with the barman whose bald head bore a striking resemblance to a walnut. The moment the door closed behind Harry the low hum of conversation stopped abruptly. Even the purple smoke froze, hanging in the air like a poltergeist. Everyone seemed to know Hagrid. They waved and smiled at him but their attention was clearly fixed on Harry, who was doing his best to hide behind Hagrid’s considerable girth. 

The barman gave Hagrid a gummy smile. “The usual, Hagrid?” he asked, seemingly oblivious to the behaviour of his patrons. 

“Can’t, Tom, I’m on Hogwarts business,” said Hagrid, clapping his enormous hand on Harry’s shoulder. Harry felt his knees buckle.

“Good Lord,” said Tom, squinting at Harry, “is this – can this be –?” It seemed like the entire pub was holding its breath. “Bless my soul,” Tom continued, “Harry Potter ... what an honour.” To Harry’s dismay, Tom scuttled out from behind the bar, rushed towards Harry, and seized his hand. “Welcome back, Mr Potter, welcome back,” he choked out, tears in his eyes. Harry fought the urge to shrink away. 

_I’m eleven now_, he reminded himself, _I’m eleven. I’m going to Hogwarts and I’m not a baby._ “Thank you,” he said, and allowed the sudden queue of people to wring his hand.____

_ _ __ _ _

_ _ __ _ _

“Doris Crockford, Mr. Potter, can’t believe I’m meeting you at last,” said a silver-haired witch, who was almost immediately josteled away by a sweaty-palmed wizard. 

“So proud, Mr Potter, I’m just so proud,” he said, only to be pushed aside by another witch.

“Always wanted to shake your hand – I’m all of a flutter.”

“Delighted, Mr Potter, just can’t tell you. Diggle’s the name, Dedalus Diggle,” said a tiny wizard with bright eyes. 

“I’ve seen you before!” said Harry excitedly, as Dedalus Diggle’s top hat fell off, “You bowed to me once in a shop.” 

“He remembers!’ cried Dedalus Diggle, nearly doing a pirouette as he swung his head to look at the others. “Did you hear that? He remembers me!”

Harry shook hands again and again – Doris Crockford kept coming back for more. Then a man approached him almost as though he was afraid of Harry, half-skittering. He was pale and drawn and one of his eyes was twitching. 

“Professor Quirrell!” boomed Hagrid. Quirrell winced. “Harry, Professor Quirrell will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts,”

“P-P-Potter,’ stammered Professor Quirrell, doing an odd little half-bow, “c-can’t t-tell you how p-pleased I am to meet you.”

“What sort of magic do you teach?” Harry asked politely, noticing with relief that the man did not appear to wish to shake his hand.

“D-Defence Against the D-D-Dark Arts,’ muttered Professor Quirrell, sounding nauseous at the mention of it. “N-not that you n-need it, eh, P-P-Potter?” he said, giving a nervous laugh. “You’ll be g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I’ve g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself.” From the look on his face, the professor looked as though he was picking up the vampires himself. 

But the others wouldn’t let Professor Quirrell keep Harry to himself and it took nearly ten minutes of trying to extricate themselves before Hagrid managed to make himself heard, saying “Must get on – lots ter buy. Come on, Harry." Doris Crockford shook Harry’s hand one last time and Hagrid led them through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard. Harry looked around expectantly, but all he could see was some weeds and dustbin, a couple cigarette butts. Hagrid grinned at Harry. 

“Look ah' that,” he said proudly, "yer dead famous. Even Professor Quirrell was tremblin’ ter meet yeh – mind you, he’s usually tremblin.”

"Is he always that nervous?” Harry asked curiously. 

Hargrid snorted. ”Oh, yeah. Poor bloke. Brilliant mind. He was fine while he was studyin’ outta books but then he took a year off ter get some firsthand experience ... They say he met vampires in the Black Forest and there was a nasty bit o’ trouble with a hag – never been the same since. Scared of the students, scared of his own subject – now, where’s me umbrella?"

Vampires? Hags? Harry couldn’t help but feel a twinge of smugness; Remus and Sirius could handle hags and vampires in their sleep. Hagrid, meanwhile, was counting bricks in the wall above the dustbin. “Three up... two across ..." he muttered, squinting. "Right, stand back, Harry.” He tapped the wall three times with the point of his umbrella. 

The brick he had tapped began to rattle slightly and a hole appeared in the middle, twisting itself bigger until a massive archway led from the courtyard to a bustling street that twisted out in all directions lined by a hodgepodge of brightly coloured shops. Harry gasped as owls swooped in and out of windows, trolleys pushed themselves down cobbled streets, and newspapers grinned, scowled, and waved out from their black and white print front pages. 

“Welcome," said Hagrid, proudly “to Diagon Alley." 

However much time they were planning on spending in Diagon Alley, Harry was sure it wouldn’t be enough.. Magical signs twirled and flashed all sorts of colours and witches in tall, pointy decorated hats laughed and chatted over cups of coffee in front of cafes and haberdasheries. Harry craned his neck to look back as he followed Hagrid through the crowd and saw, just in time, as the archway vanished back into a wall. 

“Come along Harry, lots ter do,” Hagrid was saying, but Harry could only half hear him over the sudden roar of conversation and clatter filling the street. Snippets of conversation like “dragon liver, sixteen Sickles an ounce, they’re mad” mixed with the low hoots of owls issuing from a dark shop with a sign saying Eeylops Owl Emporium – Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown and Snowy. 

“Look," Harry heard a boy about his age say to a group of friends all clustered close to a shop-front window, ‘the new Nimbus Two Thousand – fastest ever –”. He wanted to join them, thought maybe he could bring Sirius back with him later, but then windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels’ eyes caught his interest and then telescopes and delicate spinning silver instruments, wobbling piles of spell books that occasionally sneezed or took flight, potion bottles, globes of the moon... Hagrid stopped suddenly and Harry nearly ran into him. 

“Welcome ter Gringotts,” said Hagrid. 

Before them towered a cold white marble building, somehow pristince in the clutter of the street. Burnished bronze doors shone behind a tiny man in a scarlet and gold uniform. Taller than a house-elf but distinctly not human, the goblin turned and bowed impassively as they walked through. Harry did his best not to stare, not wanting to seem rude. Silver doors came next, engraved with the warning: 

Enter, stranger, but take heed  
Of what awaits the sin of greed,  
For those who take, but do not earn,  
Must pay most dearly in their turn, 

So if you seek beneath our floors  
A treasure that was never yours,  
Thief, you have been warned, beware  
Of finding more than treasure there. 

“Like I said, yeh’d be mad ter try an’ rob it,” said Hagrid. Harry nodded solemnly as they were bowed through again by a pair of goblins into a great marble hall, lined by a long counter behind which there were more than a hundred goblins seated on high stools, weighing coins, examining precious stones, and scribbling in massive leather-bound ledgers. Countless doors lined the wall opposite, goblins leading people in and out of them, their small heads weaving in and out of the much taller wizarding crowd. 

“Morning,” said Hagrid to a free goblin who had beckoned them over, “we’ve come ter take some money outta Mr Harry Potter’s safe.” 

“You have his key, sir?” asked the goblin, somewhat skeptically. 

“Got it here somewhere,” said Hagrid and he began rummaging in his many pockets, depositing mouldy dogbiscuits on the goblin’s ledger as Harry looked with interest at the goblin to their right who was weighing a pile of rubies as big as his fist. “Got it,” said Hagrid finally, offering a tiny golden key. The goblin peered at it carefully and then nodded.

“That seems to be in order,” he said, and Hagrid again searched his pockets, this time dislodging a number of beetles that skittered into a different pocket. “An’ I’ve also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore,” he said importantly, throwing out his chest and seemingly not noticing the beetles, “It’s about the YouKnow-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen.” The goblin read the letter carefully. 

“Very well,” he said, handing it back to Hagrid, “I will have someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook!” Yet another goblin appeared at Harry’s elbow. Once Hagrid had crammed all the dog-biscuits back inside his pockets, he and Harry followed Griphook towards one of the doors leading off the hall. 

“What’s the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen?” Harry asked, interested. But Hagrid would not tell him. The two of them followed Griphook down the long hall and into a strange corridor like a mine shaft where all three of them crammed into a rickety cart and shot along what felt very much like a muggle roller coaster past an underground lake and through a waterfall. Harry peeked curiously into his vault, wanting to explore the packages and trunks that lined the back of the little room, but a very green-looking Hagrid (who had NOT enjoyed the ride) helped him count out the galleons, sickles, and little bronze knuts into a leather pouch and then pulled him along. 

Vault seven hundred and thirteen was even deeper in the passages than the Potter vault, and by the time they reached it Harry was nearly vibrating with anticipation. To his dismay, behind the large and heavily-locked door was what appeared to be an empty room. Hagrid quickly picked a grubby little packet up off of the floor and shoved it in his pocket, refusing to say a word about its contents. 

‘Come on, back in this infernal cart, and don’t talk to me on the way back, it’s best if I keep me mouth shut,’ he grumbled, and they rode back up to the light, Harry thinking wistfully of how much Sirius would have liked the ride and that surely he would have gotten Hagrid to talk. As they walked back outside, blinking in the bright sunlight, Hagrid steadied himself on a post that groaned and bent a little under his weight. 

“Listen, Harry would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts,” he said, queasily. “Yeh can get yer uniform over there” he added, nodded to Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions. Harry, who felt all of the sudden quite small and uninitiated, nodded nervously. Squaring his shoulders, he walked across the busy street and into the little shop. 

Madam Malkin was a tiny, round little witch dressed head to toe in mauve. “Hogwarts, dear?” she asked, glancing at him and not waiting for an answer. “Got the lot here – another young man being fitted up just now, in fact.”

Harry looked across the store to see a boy about his age with pale blond hair and a thin pointed face whose black robes were being carefully hemmed by another mauve-clad witch. Madam Malkin ushered Harry over to a footstool beside the other boy and slid a long robe over his head, eyeing him carefully. 

“Hullo,” said the boy, genially, “Hogwarts too?”

“Yeah,” said Harry. 

“My father’s next door buying my books and mother’s up the street looking at wands,” the boy drawled. He sounded posh, like Aunt Drom or Sirius when he was angry with Aunt Petunia. “Then I’m going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don’t see why first-years can’t have their own. I think I’ll bully father into getting me one and I’ll smuggle it in somehow.” 

Harry felt a twinge of disgust, reminded of Dudley. 

“Have you got your own broom?” the boy went on. Harry thought about the Nimbus 2000 and how he only used Sirius’ old Shooting Star, so he just shook his head.

“Play Quidditch at all?”

“Ye--” Harry started to say, but the boy wasn’t really listening. 

“I do – Father says it’s a crime if I’m not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you’ll be in yet?”

This was a sore subject, and Harry resented the boy for asking. How could anyone know what house they’d be in? “No,’ said Harry.

“Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I’ll be in Slytherin, all our family have been – imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I’d leave, wouldn’t you?”

“Mmm,” said Harry, who knew nothing about Hufflepuff.

“I say, look at that man!” the boy said suddenly. Harry turned to see Hagrid standing outside the window, holding two giant ice-creams and beaming at him. 

“That’s Hagrid,” said Harry, relieved to finally have an answer. “He works at Hogwarts.”

“Oh,’ said the boy, wrinkling his pointed nose, “I’ve heard of him. He’s a sort of servant, isn’t he?” 

“He’s the gamekeeper,” said Harry, annoyed. He wished he could move his arm to wave at Hagrid, but Madam Malkin was hemming his sleeves with very long and pointy pins. 

“Yes, exactly,” the boy continued, enthusiastically, “I heard he’s a sort of savage – lives in a hut in the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic and ends up setting fire to his bed.”

“ Well I think he’s brilliant,” said Harry hotly. 

“Do you?” said the boy, sneering. “Why is he with you? Where are your parents?”

“They’re dead,” said Harry shortly. He got the feeling that he shouldn’t tell this boy about Sirius and Remus.

“Oh, sorry,” he replied, not sounding particularly sorry. “But they were our kind, weren’t they?”

Harry scowled. “They were a witch and wizard, if that’s what you mean,” he said, feeling his face go hot. 

“I really don’t think they should let the other sort in, do you? They’re just not the same, they’ve never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What’s your surname, anyway?” 

Blood boiling, Harry was about to answer when, Madam Malkin said, “That’s you done, my dear,” and slipped the robe over his head. Harry, glad to leave, jumped off the footstool. 

“Well, I’ll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose,’ said the drawling boy as Harry left. He did not respond. Once he was outside he thanked Hagrid and took the chocolate and raspberry ice-cream with chopped nuts, unable to shake the feeling that he was going to Hogwarts woefully unprepared. 

“You alrigh’?” asked Hagrid. 

“Yeah,” Harry lied, and Hagrid didn’t press. They bought parchment and quills, Harry cheering up when he found a bottle of colour-changing ink, and once he felt a bit better he told Hagrid about what the boy in the shop had said about muggleborns and houses. 

“– and he said people from Muggle families shouldn’t even be allowed in –” he said, angrily.  
“What does he know about it,” said Hagrid, “ anyway, some o’ the best I ever saw were the only ones with magic in ’em in a long line o’ Muggles – look at yer mum! Look what she had fer a sister!” 

“Yeah,” said Harry, wondering if Hagrid had ever met Aunt Petunia and trying to imagine the interaction, “And why wouldn’t I want to be in Hufflepuff?” 

“Everyone says Hufflepuff are a lot o’ duffers, but –”

“I bet I’m in Hufflepuff,” said Harry gloomily. 

“Better Hufflepuff than Slytherin,” said Hagrid darkly. “There’s not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn’t in Slytherin. You-Know-Who was one.”

Harry looked up in surprise. “Vol– sorry – You-Know-Who was at Hogwarts?” he asked, and then felt stupid. Hagrid didn’t seem to think so, though. He looked very far away.

“Years an’ years ago,” he said quietly. Harry opened his mouth to ask more questions, but Hagrid hurried him into a shop called Flourish and Blotts and he found himself immediately enthralled by the stacks of books. Some of them were nearly as big as his bed and others the size of postage stamps-- some of the books fluttered by lazily, like birds, and as Harry craned his neck to see inside their pages he caught glimpses of brightly colored illustrations, strange runes and symbols, and words that seemed to run like water across the page. Hagrid had to drag him away from ‘Curses and Counter-Curses (Bewitch your Friends and Befuddle your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue-Tying and much, much more) by Professor Vindictus Viridian’ (“Remember, Harry, yer not ter use magic in the Muggle world an’ yeh wouldn’t want ter get expelled before yeh finish yer first year fer duellin’”) and it took nearly all of his willpower to not buy a brightly colored magazine labeled in spiky acid green writing as ‘Witch Weekly’ because on the cover sulked a grainy image of Sirius with the caption ‘Bogeyman or Bachelor: the Truth about the Reclusive Sirius Black’. 

“C’mon now, we’ll be late” Hagrid told him, “though I won’t deny that would give me a good laugh.” Picking up the magazine, he handed the clerk a few coins and placed it in one of his pockets with the rest of Harry’s books. “Now let’s get you a cauldron,” he said, and Harry nearly started vibrating with excitement. 

“No we can’t get yeh a gold one, it says pewter on the list,” Hagrid said with exasperation as Harry dragged him about the apothecary. Harry clutched his collapsable brass telescope in his hand, excitedly asking Hagrid to ask about the potion ingredients. 

“Alrigh’ alrigh’” Hagrid laughed as Harry pointed to yet another jar of strange and squirming pickled things “yeh have yer mother in yeh, there’s no denyin’ it. But leave the unicorn horns alone and there’ll be plenty o’ beetles eyes at Hogwarts I promise.” 

“Okay,” said Harry reluctantly, dragging his eyes from the bundles of claws and feathers and curious smelling herbs that hung from the rafters of the building. 

“Just yer wand left now,” said Hagrid, and Harry felt himself go hot and cold all at once. Hagrid patted him on the back and he stumbled, not entirely reassured. 

“And yer birthday present o’ course, I know exactly what ter get yeh.” Harry’s face was suddenly very hot. 

“You-- you don’t have--” he said, and Hagrid chuckled. 

“That’s the Remus in yeh, I’ll wager,” he said, ushering Harry in to the Magical Menagerie. “Not a toad, toads went outta fashion years ago, yeh’d be laughed at – an’ I don’ like cats, they make me sneeze. I’ll get yer an owl. All the kids want owls, they’re dead useful, carry yer post an’ everythin’. Which one do yeh like?” 

“I dunno,” said Harry, feeling suddenly very shy. He rubbed his nose and adjusted his glasses, peering over the counter at the owls lounging in nooks along the wall. There were tiny ones, so small he could hardly imagine them carrying a postage stamp, and great big eagle-like owls that looked like they would very much like to eat the postage stamp owls. A soft coo from a snowy owl caught his attention: it looked at him keenly, cocking its head as though it were sizing him up. 

“Gorgeous, isn’t she,” said Hagrid softly. Harry looked up to see the giant man with a look of great satisfaction on his face. “We’ll be takin’ tha’ one.” 

They walked out of the store not five minutes later, the owl sleeping contentedly in her brass cage with her head under her wing. “Th-th-thank you,” said Harry again, stumbling over his gratitude. 

“Don’ mention it,” said Hagrid gruffly, “eleven’s a big one and I reckon yeh ought to have a friend before yeh get ter school. Just Ollivanders left now – only place fer wands, Ollivanders, and yeh gotta have the best wand.” 

Harry clutched the cage a little tighter as they walked down the road to the final shop on the block. The thin, rather run down storefront was nearly unremarkable except for the peeling gold letters over the door that read ‘Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC’ and a dusty wand on an even dustier purple pillow sitting in the shop window. 

As they entered the shop a bell rang somewhere deep in the rows upon rows of tiny drawers that filled the shop, creating such narrow corridors that it would have been completely impossible for Hagrid to go any further. Dusty boxes sat in piles near the front and a single, spindly chair with a magazine dated 1893 were the only attempt at a waiting room. Hagrid sat, looking a bit as though he had been called into the headmaster’s office. Harry swallowed his questions and hoped that Hedwig wouldn’t make a sound either. There was a very strange and fragile magic to this place: like a very old library or a haunted house. “Good afternoon,” said a soft voice, and both Harry and Hagrid jumped. 

A small, spindly old man was walking slowly through the rows of drawers, his eyes impossibly large and pale. 

“Hello,” said Harry awkwardly, trying to look anywhere but those creepy silver eyes. 

“Ah yes,” said the man who must have been Ollivander. “Yes, yes. I thought I’d be seeing you soon. Harry Potter.” Harry gulped.

“You have your mother’s eyes,” Ollivander continued, moving in closer to Harry who desperately wished that he would blink. “It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work.” He peered closer at Harry. “Your father, on the other hand, favoured a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favoured it – it’s really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course.” 

“Mm,” said Harry nervously. Ollivander was now so close that Harry could see himself reflected in his watery eyes.

“And that’s where ...” Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Harry’s forehead with a long, white finger. Harry was too stunned to move. “I’m sorry to say I sold the wand that did it,” he said softly. “Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands ... Well, if I’d known what that wand was going out into the world to do ...” He shook his head slowly and then, to Harry’s great relief, saw Hagrid. 

“Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid!” he said delightedly, his voice warmer and more raspy, as though he was speaking louder though his volume remained the same. “How nice to see you again ... Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn’t it?”

“It was, sir, yes,” said Hagrid, beaming. 

“Good wand, that one,” said Ollivander, “but I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?” 

“Er – yes, they did, yes,” said Hagrid, the bit of his face unobscured by his whiskers going very pink. “I’ve still got the pieces, though,” he added brightly. 

“But you don’t use them?” said Ollivander sharply. Hagrid’s grip on his pink umbrella tightened.  
“Oh, no, sir,” he said very quickly, avoiding Harry’s eyes. 

“Hmm,” said Ollivander, pulling a silvery tape measure out of his pocket and fixing Harry with a suddenly piercing stare. “Which is your wand arm?” 

“Er – well, I’m right-handed,” said Harry. 

“Hold out your arm,” said Ollivander, and Harry nervously obliged. “That’s it,” said the wandmaker approvingly, measuring Harry from shoulder to finger and then again from his wrist to his elbow, shoulder to floor, foot to knee, and round his head saying all the while “Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard’s wand.”

As the tape measure, now measuring on its own, began to map the distance between his chin and ear, Ollivander began to flit excitedly about the shelves, pulling out box after box from the long thin drawers. 

“That will do,” he said, and the tape measure rattled itself up and flew back into Ollivander’s pocket. “Right then, Mr Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave.”

Harry, feeling rather nervous, gave the wand an awkward little twirl but Ollivander almost immediately snatched it out of his hand and replaced it with a new one. 

“Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try –” Harry had barely flicked the wand before it, too, was out of his hand. 

“No, no – here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out.” To his dismay, this wand barely touched his hand before Ollivander had snatched it, too. 

On and on they went, Ollivander piling more and more wands on the floor, the drawers shooting out of the shelves as if by their own volition, each wand offering itself up to be rejected mere moments later. Ollivander seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself, his eyes growing impossibly wider as he danced between the rows. 

“Tricky customer, eh?” he chuckled, beaming at Harry, “Not to worry, we’ll find the perfect match here somewhere – I wonder, now – yes, why not – unusual combination – holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple.” He handed the wand to Harry who gave a little gasp as he felt it grow warm in his hand. Raising it above his head he gave it a great swish through the air. The wand erupted in a stream of red and gold sparks, tingling joyfully through his fingers. Hagrid gave out a great whoop, clapping, and a nearly incandescently joyful Ollivander cried “Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well ... how curious ... how very curious ...” 

Taking the wand from Harry, he carefully placed it in its box and began to wrap it up in brown paper. Harry felt so strangely bereft without the wand in his hand that it took him a moment to realize that Ollivander was still muttering to himself “Curious.... curious.”

“Sorry,” he blurted before he could stop himself, “but what’s so curious?” Ollivander lifted his pale eyes from the wand box and fixed them on Harry. 

“I remember every wand I’ve ever sold, Mr Potter,” he said slowly, almost menacing, “Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather – just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother – why, its brother gave you that scar.” Harry felt the top of his head grow cold, as though someone had cracked an egg over it, slowly chilling him to the pit of his stomach. Yes, thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember ... I think we must expect great things from you, Mr Potter... After all, He Who Must Not Be Named did great things – terrible, yes, but great.” 

Neither Harry nor Hagrid said much after that. He paid seven galleons for the wand and avoided Ollivander’s steady gaze as he and Hagrid were bowed out of the shop. Hagrid seemed a little jumpy for the rest of the train ride but relaxed as they passed through London and climbed on a bus to Wales. 

“Will it always be like that,” Harry asked quietly, half-hoping that Hagrid wouldn’t actually hear him. Hagrid let out a little huff, rattling the covered cage of the snowy owl at his feet. 

“At first, maybe,” he said a little ruefully, “but there’s no one at Hogwarts who weren’t touched by the war. I expect we’re all still adjustin’.

“Everyone thinks I’m special, though” said Harry nervously, “all those people in the Leaky Cauldron, Professor Quirrell, Ollivander... but I don’t really know anything magic at all. How can they expect great things? I’m famous and I can’t even remember what I’m famous for. I don’t know what happened when Vol– sorry – I mean, the night my parents died.” 

Hagrid chuckled softly, and Harry looked up from his hands to see a kind smile under his giant beard and bushy eyebrows. “Don’ you worry, Harry. You’ll learn fast enough. Everyone starts at the beginning at Hogwarts, you’ll be just fine. Just be yerself. I know it’s hard. Yeh’ve been singled out, an’ that’s always hard. But yeh’ll have a great time at Hogwarts – I did – still do, ’smatter of fact.” Harry couldn’t help but grin at this.

“Now let’s get yeh home before yer godfathers call out a search party,” Hagrid added, “and I won’t mine arrivin’ meself. Heard yer Grandad mention somethin’ abou’ a croissant layer on that cake o’ yers.” 

...... 

“Absolutely the fuck not,” hissed Remus, pulling Sirius into the kitchen. 

“Come ON, Moony,” he insisted, “it’s his birthday for Merlin’s sake and a little underage magic never hurt anyone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How's that for famous last words.
> 
> Again, so much love for everyone who stuck with me!! 2020 has been insane and I hope that we are all both fighting the battles we are able to fight and caring ourselves through the battles that we cannot yet face. 
> 
> Remember that content creators are flawed and the way we engage with their content should reflect our values; the books cannot be separated from their creator (sorry, Roland Barthes enthusiasts) and that we, the fic writers and readers, should be cultivating what we consume and how it impacts us. 
> 
> As Angela Davis said, "we must lift as we rise". This is a platform where we can raise our voices to lift up the members of our community left behind by the narrative. Fanfic has always been queer, has always been racially and ethnically and culturally diverse. It is a space for us to change and fix and personalise the narratives we love so much. Thank you to every fic writer who lifted me up; I hope to continue to pay the favour forwards.

**Author's Note:**

> ouch


End file.
